


Make It Up To You

by its_my_FIC_in_a_box



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (kind of), Alternate Universe, American History, Angst, Bisexual Harry, Bottom Harry, Fashion Designer Louis, Harry Has Long Hair, Harry is upset and Louis comforts him, Harry loves American History, Harry's nipples are named after trailblazing American women, Hate to Love, M/M, Matchmaker Niall, Nerd Harry, Pining, Set in the present no pirates here, Theoretically they're both in school but little mention of it, Top Louis Tomlinson, a lot of Louis inside his head, a lot of harry worship, and he wears buns on occasion, board game night with the boys, especially George Washington, harry loves puns, side of Ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-26 19:31:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16687588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_my_FIC_in_a_box/pseuds/its_my_FIC_in_a_box
Summary: AU in which Harry studies History at LSE and Louis studies design at Central Saint Martin's. One fateful night, Louis drunkenly breaks Harry's beloved George Washington statue under Niall's supervision. Niall enlists Louis to use his sewing skills to make it up to Harry... with the right combination of board games, take away, and special brownies, Harry might even find it in himself to forgive him.Random, sure, but so is the universe.





	Make It Up To You

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks bae, for the countless hours of consultating on this! You know who you are .... ;p

 

Louis was still hungover. His brain pounded in his skull and his stomach churned vengefully. After attempting to rethread his sewing machine for the third time, his headache triumphed over his work ethic. He pushed the chiffon out of the way and slid his elbows over the work table, collapsing his head onto his arms. He wouldn’t fall asleep—there were evening gowns to be hemmed and deadlines to be met. Nope, definitely not the time for a nap.

Whose idea had it been to throw a party on a Tuesday anyway? And why had he thought it would be a good idea to attend? Right, there’d been a Manchester United versus Derby match and Zayn—that fit guy from Art History—was supposed to have been there. Fit he was, but in attendance not so much. From what he could remember of it he’d enjoyed himself though. If he recalled correctly, there’d been quite literal shotgunning of beer out of the barrel of a musket.  _Musket?_ Louis must’ve fabricated that memory in his intoxicated state.

The sun streamed in through the third floor windows of Central Saint Martin’s, casting grids of light on the shop floor and warming Louis’ shoulders. This was nice. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this relaxed, almost like a cat bathing in the sun. A cat with a whirling stomach ache and inhumanely high blood alcohol concentration level.

He couldn’t have dozed off for more than a few minutes when a hand nudged his shoulder and spoke quietly.

“Louis, mate.”

The voice was Irish and a little hesitant. Louis was not at all amused.  

“Fuck off.” He mumbled. He shifted his hand on his arms lazily and in the process his eyes fluttered open and caught a glimpse of the blond boy seated on the stool next to him. It was Niall, the tech guy and the one who’d thrown the party. Louis sat up reluctantly.

“I’m sorry.”  Louis yawned. “I really shouldn’t be sleeping anyway.” Sometimes it took Louis conscious effort not to be a dick to people he didn’t know well.

“No it’s alright, I didn’t want to have to wake you but I was on my way out, and I’m not sure I have your number.”

“What do you need?” Louis blinked away his rudeness. “Uh, I mean…fun times last night, yeah..?” He said in a pathetic attempt to converse casually. He liked this Niall kid, but shit, he was hungover and would really rather be left alone.

“Was mad, yeah.” Niall agreed, smiling nostalgically as his exposed knee shook energetically. “Didn’t expect such a turn out but jesus. Good match, you know, even if your Manchester wankers won.”

“ _We’ll never die!_   _”_  Louis said reciting the team’s chant half-heartedly and raising a limp fist. God, he really needed to sleep for a week. Maybe a decade.

“Yeah, yeah yeah.” Niall said rolling his eyes in mock offence.

After a few beats of silence Louis began drumming his fingers on the edge of the stool between his legs. He’d never been good with quiet. “So… what’s up?”

Niall looked at him blankly for a few moments. Louis preemptively tried to contain his annoyance if it turned out Niall had interrupted his luxurious nap just to chat about parties or football.

Niall nodded once with sudden remembrance, and Louis unclenched his jaw. “What you broke—I thought of a way for you to pay back my roommate.”

“What I broke…” Louis was drawing a blank. He tried racking his brain but it wasn’t working out so well. “If anyone’s pregnant I promise it’s not mine.” Louis grimaced, having executed much better jokes than that.

Niall chuckled politely.

“I just meant ‘cause I’m gay…” Where was Louis going with this?

Niall looked amused. “Yeah I got that.”

“Sorry I’ve gotten like no sleep in the past three days.” Louis said rubbing his eyes. “What have I broken and how can I help?” He offered.

Niall grinned, enjoying Louis in his sleep deprived, half-drunken state.

“The bust…It was my roommate’s.” Niall explained.

“Bust?”

Louis could practically hear the Jeopardy theme song droning along to the pounding of his headache.

“The George Washington bust. You kind of shattered it mate.”

Louis began nodding slowly, it was all coming back to him now. The bloody sculpture. Who the fuck owns George Washington memorabilia anyway? He’d been so entertained by the outlandishness of the object that he’d carried the thing around for a good part of the night, introducing it to people and trying his hand at ventriloquy (a bit of a challenge to carry out with a very static porcelain statue).

“He’s pretty upset about it. More like devastated.” Niall added.

Louis couldn’t imagine the type of person that would own that thing unironically, let alone be heartbroken if it broke. He palmed his eyes. “So what does he need?”

“Some kind of period outfit, he’s a bit of a history buff. I don’t know what it is really. But since making clothes is your thing, I thought maybe you could help him out.”

“ _Muskets_   _.”_  He muttered to himself. It all made sense— he hadn’t imagined it!

“What’s that?” Niall asked curiously.

Louis shook his head surfacing from his reverie. “Nothing. Um yeah sure, I can make him something.”

As if Louis didn’t already have a hundred exponentially more urgent things to do right now than make some dork a costume. But it  _was_  his fault, so he would try to do the decent thing. His mum had raised him well and all that.

“Brilliant. He’ll be over the moon.” Niall perked up in his chair.

Louis nodded, beginning to get anxious about the amount of sewing that lay ahead of him. “I should give you my number.”

Niall strained in his seat and reached into the depths of his circulation-reducing skinny jeans, eventually procuring his mobile.

“Here,”

Louis fiddled with the tiny keyboard on the touch screen until he successfully added himself to Niall’s contacts. He had to admire the guy’s loyalty to his friend and the trouble he was going to to avenge his ruined property. Louis liked to think of himself as a decent friend, but if Liam or Stan thought he would do the same for them they were shit out of luck.

“Cheers.” Niall said rising to stand and backing towards the doorway. He had a somewhat smug look on his face that Louis couldn’t quite read yet couldn’t be bothered enough to ponder.

“Yeah, no problem. And tell him I’m sorry again.”

Niall nodded. “Will do. Have a good one Tommo.”

“Same to you.” Louis saluted and watched him round the corner before gazing back at the heap of fabric strewn in front of him, wanting to curl up into a ball and sleep straight until Alexander McQueen’s Spring/Summer collection hit the runway.

 

~~~~

 

It was a foggy London morning, and Louis rushed through the underground maze of King’s Cross. He was already ten minutes late to meet Niall and his roommate to figure out what he needed made. Why some people thought it was a good idea to arrange morning meetings was beyond him. He hadn’t had time to do anything but spray his hair and could only hope that he’d achieved the kind of bed-head that looked intentionally unintentional in a good way. In the train car he’d scrolled through the messages he’d ignored in his frantic rush out the door, landing on an unapologetic dick pic from a certain aspiring radio host. The posh mother seated beside him accompanied by her Ralph Lauren clad 7 year old scowled when her eyes landed on the picture, but hey, that’s what you get for being nosy.

He weaved through throngs of businessmen, juggling his travel mug and phone and trying not to regret agreeing to do this. When he finally made it outside he wished he had opted for something warmer. His green jacket was not enough to counter the brisk air and good  _God_  he hoped he was the later party to arrive, merely for the sake of not having to wait outside in this arctic tundra.

He approached the bridge over the Regent’s canal where they’d agreed to meet and picked up his pace when he could see Niall’s blond quiff hovering over the heads of the few other mad men that were out and about at this hour. The Irishman had his hand posed lightly on the railing as he looked out at the water. Beside him was a tall brunette wearing a beanie and leaning his elbows on the railing. As Louis grew closer, he decided this stranger had a very nice profile, and probably an even nicer face. He hoped this roommate of Niall’s arrived soon, before he had to skip ahead several steps in his and Niall’s acquaintanceship and demand to penguin huddle with him.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Have you been waiting long?” Louis exhaled when he reached Niall.

Niall shrugged casually and shook his head. The guy beside him turned his head, and Louis was most certainly right about his previous hypothesis. He was gorgeous. All green eyes and pink lips, mostly innocent with a hint of I-could-charm-my-way-into-your-mother’s-pants,  _or_  father’s…anyone’s pants really. Louis would’ve bet fifty quid that those cheeks would’ve formed beautiful dimples if the boy were smiling at him, which he wasn’t. At the present he was giving him a forcefully icy stare. If Louis wasn’t already freezing his mother-fucking ass off he would’ve shivered under his gaze.  He nodded once at the guy in acknowledgement to justify their lengthy eye contact (and hopefully shake his scrutiny). The courtesy was not reciprocated.

“So any word from this roommate of yours?”

 _Jesus,_   _stop looking at me like I murdered your first-born_  , Louis thought to himself as he continued to feel the guy’s eyes boring a hole through his skull. He wondered what this guy’s problem was.

Niall looked at Louis blankly for a moment before furrowing his brow in confusion. His mouth fell open as if to say something before glancing over his shoulder directly at the Glacial Beanie God himself who was now standing behind him, his hands in the pockets of his black jeans.

Wow. Louis was more of an idiot than he’d previously thought. He should really learn to stop spurting words and let others be the first to speak every now and then. Of course this was him. They were on a mostly abandoned bridge with only two blokes standing in close proximity to one another, one of whom he knew. All signs point towards  _yes_ , this would be the duo he’d been expecting. But this saint was nothing like the George Washington enthusiast he’d pictured.

“This is him. This is Harry.” Niall declared.

The guy’s brow— _Harry’s_  brow—was hitched. He looked offended. Louis hadn’t thought it was possible for him to look any more attractive than he already was.

This was off to a great start.

“Ah, right of course. Louis,” He said holding out his hand, and desperately wanting to clobber himself in the head with a cast iron skillet. Harry reached forward and took his hand though exhibiting significantly less enthusiasm through his grip. His hand was cool and soft.

Niall looked between Louis and Harry curiously.

“Well I’ve got to get to my nine AM. But uh…I’ll let you two work out the details and what not.”

There was a beat of silence that made Louis dread the remainder of the encounter. He nodded and swallowed. This was going to be rough if this kid didn’t lighten up at least a little.

“See you two later.” Niall said as he backed away towards King’s. “And Harry, be nice. It was an accident after all.” He pointed a finger.

From the corner of his eye he could see Harry respond with what appeared to be a glare. Louis gave Niall a brief wave reassuringly before returning to face Harry who had his eyes fixed on some distant object beyond Louis’ head. Louis exhaled. “Shall we?”

Harry nodded, the undying furrow of his brow crinkled as ever, and they started for the studio.

Louis cleared his throat before attempting to thaw the block of ice walking beside him.

“So do you study? Or…work?”

Harry took a few paces ahead before speaking for the first time in a surprisingly low and drawn out drawl.

“I guess you could say that I study things.”

Louis would’ve laughed at how pretentious and simultaneously childlike that answer was if he wasn’t desperately trying to get this boy to come around, and maybe eventually like him.

“Ah…I  _see_.” Unable to mask the sarcasm in his voice. “What do you study? Or is this like the study of  _living_?” He held up air quotes around ‘living,’ instantly regretting it because now he was in essence mocking him. Louis really wasn’t doing so hot. When he looked over at Harry’s bent head though, he could’ve sworn he saw a slight smirk playing on the edge of his mouth. It was replaced almost instantly with the stiff straight line of his lips and Louis really could’ve just as easily imagined it. But, progress, just maybe?

“History at LSE.” He responded smoothly adjusting his beanie as they neared the main entrance.

LSE. Louis was impressed. He must’ve had ace scores on his A-Levels to have been accepted. To be honest he didn’t even know they offered history at LSE (Louis being blissfully ignorant of the more traditional Uni experience, having opted for design school and not regretting it for one second). He was fairly sure there had to be more to London School of Economics than economics, but had no clue as to what.

“Wow. Brill.” Which sounded really stupid as it rolled of his tongue. What was he, in Year 8?

Louis held the glass door of Central Saint Martins open for Harry, guiding him inside the lobby. Harry walked through it without so much as a nod in gratitude.

Ouch. This boy was pretty, but a bit of a prick.

Inside Louis sighed a wave of relief at the bearable temperature and led them straight to the elevator. It wasn’t even 10 AM and there was absolutely no way he was walking up three flights of stairs voluntarily. As they waited in silence for the elevator, he noticed Harry taking in their surroundings and gazing up unabashedly at the incredibly high ceilings. His face was momentarily at ease and maybe even warm, unable to hide his curiosity of the space. Saint Martins was pretty incredible. Louis gazed around too, admiring this place that had come to feel like home to him.

Upstairs Louis strode into the studio, and swung his shoulder bag onto one of the work tables. Harry took his time catching up to him, his face peacefully intrigued as he surveyed the vivid spools of thread and the partially clothed dress forms. Louis observed him contemplate every object in the room — they way he took in every detail, picking up some things and running his fingertips along the surface of others. Louis was beginning to think his first impression of this boy was very false, and that the hard shell he’d first seen might be masking something far softer and sweeter.

Louis began unpacking his laptop, and glanced over at Harry.

“Grand, innit?” His words were laced with sarcasm, but underneath he genuinely meant it.

Harry shrugged with indifference, which was comical considering the fascination he’d just exhibited for a reel of cotton thread. And just like that the coldness (although now much less convincing) was back. He pulled a stool up next to Louis’. Louis smirked at the sudden shift in attitude with his new suspicion that this kid was actually a total softy.

He opened his computer.

“So tell me, what’s the occasion and what exactly are you needing from me?”

Before Harry could utter a response his eyes fixated on the screen, his eyebrows arched and his jaw dropped ever so slightly.

And oh yeah…Louis had really been meaning to change his desktop picture.

It was a screenshot from Louis’ latest bout of binge watching American series, this one from a show called Looking about the occasionally triumphant but mostly disappointing love lives of a group of gay men in San Francisco. The shot was of the lead character shirtless in bed, his thighs in the air and making an obscenely unbecoming sex face while pretending to be rimmed. Louis had returned from the bathroom one day to find the image he’d just paused on tiled across his desktop and Liam perched eagerly in his arm chair across the room. He had a mischievous streak that one, but not a clue about the art of subtlety.

Louis blushed at seeing Harry’s reaction.

“Sorry, I’ve been meaning to change that...”

Harry didn’t address Louis’ comment and instead, with his mouth agape, asked:

“Is that _Patrick_?”

Louis’ head spun around to study Harry.

“You watch Looking?” He said in awe.

Harry nodded immediately.

Louis began to feel a buzz of excitement prickling just below the surface of his skin for two reasons. 1) This beautiful history freak and he had something in common that they might actually be able to bond over, (i.e. progress!) and 2) this beautiful history freak watched Looking which meant that he was almost positively not straight, which was  _incredible_ news to Louis.

“I just finished it.” Louis announced, thrilled to finally have someone to discuss this with. “I was gutted when I found it wasn’t renewed for a third season. What a terrible place to leave off with Kevin and all, like how hard can it be for Patrick to find love?”

That came out a lot less manly than he’d intended it.

“Yeah, Kevin’s a sleazeball.” Harry stated with distaste not sparing a moment to mock Louis.

 _Sleazeball?_ Who was this kid? Louis smiled, enjoying the indignant side of Harry now that it wasn’t directed at him.

“So...who do you think Patrick should end up with then?” Louis coaxed. Maybe if he could keep Harry focused on  _Looking_ long enough the boy would forget how much he wanted to lock Louis in a walk-in freezer. Minor manipulation was not beneath Louis.

“Oh, Richie obviously.” Harry said leaning back on his stool and waving one hand at the air as if there were no question about it.

So he was a bit of an idealist, Louis thought to himself.  _Plot twist_. Or was it?

“Really? I dunno...I think he kind of fucked that one up. Richie’s too genuine, and unassuming and comfortable with himself. I honestly don’t think he’ll ever be good enough for Richie.”

“Oh, I think so.” Harry said, his brow stitching together without any trace of his former animosity. “I mean sure, like Patrick definitely has some growing to do, but I think eventually? Yeah. They could be together.” The words came slowly and thoughtfully, and Louis was in equal parts enthralled and endeared by all that Harry was.

“Huh.” was all Louis responded, his eyes lingering for a brief moment on the boy’s slightly parted lips. They were quite perfect really— rosy and smooth, thin but lusciously curved...

Louis turned back to the screen before Harry had time to witness him blush, and cleared his throat.

“So tell me…” he prompted.

Just like that, from his peripherals he watched Harry straighten in his seat as if abruptly remembering how cross he was supposed to be with him. Louis smirked.  _So we’re back to this._

Harry was silent a few beats before speaking.

“Right, so there’s this boat, maybe you’ve heard of it— HMS Victory?” Louis shook his head blankly. “Well anyway, it’s probably England’s most distinguished ship. It was the flagship for England in the Battle of Trafalgar.” He said as if that should mean something to Louis. The battle vaguely rang a bell, probably from primary school, but over what and with whom he hadn’t the faintest idea. “Just generally, it was massively important to the War of the Third Coalition, and also in conflicts with Spain and France related to, though not directly a part of, the War of American Independence, which is really my main area of interest.”

Louis watched the way Harry savored each word with languid adulation. Louis wondered how it was he’d become so taken by history. Why couldn’t he have taken a liking to something where his beauty could be fully appreciated by the rest of those mere mortal? Something like modeling or acting. Something like… porn.

“So normally the ship’s docked in Portsmouth—I’ve worked there the last few summers giving tours—”

“Of course you have.” Louis said unconsciously under his breath. Harry paused momentarily, shooting Louis a wary glance. Louis’s shoulders dropped in submission as if he’d been reprimanded.

“ _But_ …” He resumed. “they’re bringing it here to London for a brief stint to celebrate the Royal Navy and Britain’s long history of being a power at sea during times of war.”

 _Literally_?

“I’m to work the opening reception and give some of the tours and it’s customary to dress the part. I have the the trousers and the shoes already. It’s only the jacket I need. The only ones I’ve managed to find have been horribly garish and made of rubbish material that doesn’t breathe. I want it to be proper, you know? As authentic as possible.”

Louis nodded.

“Let’s have a look shall we?” Louis offered opening a web browser. “You probably know what to search better than I do.” He said angling the keyboard of his laptop towards Harry.  

Harry nodded curtly, which was just a hair shy of ridiculous at this point. He leaned forward and began tapping keys. His eyes scanned over several pictures with utmost concentration. Louis picked at his cuticles, and glanced over at Harry and the screen occasionally. He wondered vaguely what he had in the fridge back in his flat.

“Yes.” Harry said suddenly. “Something like this.”

He leaned back in his seat to provide a better viewing window for Louis.

The image was of a regal man, taking himself far too seriously in Louis’ opinion, holding a cane and wearing a navy coat. It was a nicely embellished one with golden embroidery up the cuffs and decorative buttons along the either side of the front opening.

Leaning in, Louis examined the image more closely. He could feel Harry’s eyes studying him as the boy grew restless beside him.

“Like it doesn’t have to be that detailed or complicated, but you know...just like the general idea.” Harry said becoming slightly self-conscious of the extreme workload he was demanding of this near stranger. Louis didn’t acknowledge his comment. In fact, he was actually starting to look forward to this project.

“Fuck yeah. Epaulettes.” He said smirking. He’d never had a real reason to make them, but had been meaning to for quite some time. These ones were gold and tasseled, and somehow quite elegant, and  _fuck_ — this could actually be fun.

Harry seemed to relax in his seat a bit as he witnessed Louis’ growing enthusiasm.

He showed Louis a few other pictures to give him a better idea of what he was hoping for and Louis reacted by delivering brief nods, and then rummaging through his bag until he dug out a pad of paper and a pencil. He began sketching a vague outline of what he planned to make, combining a few of the elements Harry had liked from the various pictures. Harry watched quietly over his shoulder, and Louis could practically feel the tension in the room and the reserve of the boy melting into a puddle on the shop floor.

“You can do that?” Harry said in only half-restrained awe, studying the folds in the shoulder stretch of the epaulette that Louis had included from the first picture Harry had shown him.

Louis responded with a contrived shrug that would’ve made him roll his eyes had he seen someone else pull it. But Harry was either too absorbed in the sketch or not judgemental enough to take notice.

“Let’s get your measurements, yeah?” Louis said standing, and reaching for his tape measure. “And then you should be good to go.”

Harry nodded seriously, and stood slowly, releasing his grip on the stool between his legs.

“Where do you want me?” Harry shifted on his toes.

 _On your hands and knees_ _._ Louis’ brain chimed in without missing a beat. He cleared his throat, but not the image.

“Just raise your arms, will you?”

Harry obliged and Louis circled around the back of him, bringing the plastic ribbon around his chest. Louis usually preferred measuring from behind. Generally, he was shorter than the models or the actors he was fitting, and beautiful people have a way of having absolutely rancid breath. That said, he wouldn’t actually have minded Harry’s breath flitting across his cheeks, but the thought arrived too late to outmaneuver the automatic movements of his body.

He gathered the measurement, inhaling the scent of Harry’s shampoo in spite of the beanie that was covering most of his head. It was lovely. All lavender and mint and Louis would’ve really liked to have leaned in just to get a deeper whiff but thought better of it. Doing so would have raised all sorts of predatory red flags, and here he was, still trying to get on the boy’s good side.

“You know, I’m really sorry about breaking your—er—- your bust, not sure I apologized properly.”

“It’s... okay.” Harry said turning his head subtly towards his shoulder in Louis’ direction. There was a moment of silence as he seemed to contemplate his next words. “This will be more than enough to pay me back.” and just like that Louis saw the side of Harry’s cheek dimple in what could only be a smile. A  _smile_ indirectly, directed at  _him._

Louis took that as a total and utter win.  

 

~~~~

 

“Liam!” Louis bellowed from beside the door to their flat as he slipped on his vans and searched for his keys. He prayed that his roommate hadn’t forgotten about the freak show board game night he’d agreed to join Louis at now that he’d succumbed to loungewear and crisps.

His initial thoughts were skeptical when he’d received the text from Niall. He’d been nestled in the couch with a pint of Haagen Dazs between his thighs when he’d seen his phone light up with: ‘ _board game night tomorrow @ mine and harrys ! bring your thinking cap and an iron liver!’_  Normally he would’ve flat out declined such an invitation. Board games and the people they attracted weren’t really his style, and he usually avoided quasi-intimate gatherings with people he didn’t know well because they usually resulted in awkward drink sipping. But since Harry apparently was attracted to board games and Louis was attracted to Harry, his earlier logic had already proven itself faulty. It was the second text though, chiming a good thirty second later that really sold him: ‘ _Curly wants you to come!’_   Because, _really_? Sure, Harry had seemed to warm up a bit to Louis by the end of their design powwow, but full on inviting him seemed a bit forward. Yet, the chance of seeing him again, outside the confines of this transaction, or whatever it was they had going, was appealing in its own right, and especially if Harry were enthused about seeing him too.

Liam emerged from the doorway of the bathroom clad in a footless navy blue onesie, the sound of the toilet flushing behind him. He’d spent the entire afternoon splayed on the couch watching a marathon of  _How Clean Is Your House_   _?_  He insisted relentlessly that he was straight but sometimes Louis had his doubts.

“Remind me again why I have to come with you?” Liam said yawning and scratching his head as he padded across the room towards Louis.

“Because...I’ll probably say something insensitive, make an arse of myself...things will get awkward, and  _you_ , my friend, make a fabulous buffer.”

Liam raised his eyebrows lazily. “Buffer, eh?” He crossed his arms in mock offense. “You sure know how to charm your friends into doing you favors, Tommo.”

“Oh, come off it.” Louis said disregarding him with a wave. “Now, have you seen my keys?”

Liam began hopping on one foot pulling on a Timberland boot. “Nope.”

Louis looked up from his frantic scan of the counter, and took in the sight of Liam stumbling in his onesie.

“You’re not seriously wearing that.” He groaned.

Liam straightened up and raised his eyebrows again in warning.

“The buffer comes as is.”

Louis rolled his eyes. How had he managed to land himself with the most obstinate of friends?

“Alright fine, but we’ll have to take your keys. I can’t find mine anywhere.”

Liam snagged his set off the hook as he followed Louis out the door.

“Aren’t we really early? Didn’t you say eight?” He said as his hands found their way into the slouched pockets of the single article of clothing he was wearing. Louis was sure Liam would be freezing outside but decided against suggesting he take a jacket. Served him right for wearing that hideous thing out of the flat.

“I want to stop and get beers to bring.”

“Ah.” Liam says with a brief nod. “This feels all proper and whatnot. We’re not secretly on the way to meets the parents, are we? You would tell me if we were dating, wouldn’t you?”

“You already know my mum, she’s the only parent I’ve got.” Louis pointed out as he hopped off the last stair, and pushed open the door to the street. He would not play into Liam’s antics, the boy derived far too much pleasure when he did.

“You must really want to shag this Gary kid.”

“ _Harry_   _._ ” Louis corrected him, swiping the fringe out of his eyes and wondering in what world ‘Gary’ seemed like a more plausible name for a 20-or-so year old than ‘Harry’. “And I’d like to get to  _know_ him.” That sounded casual, reasonable and it was true enough wasn’t it? Louis had been thinking a lot about Harry the last few days. He would never admit that much to Liam, let alone anyone else, but a strange kind of excitement had settled at the bottom of his stomach with the knowledge that he’d soon be face to face with him again.

“Yep, sure— in the biblical sense.” Liam maneuvered around a group of teenage girls who oggled him as he passed. He was fit sure, and also wearing a onesie that had ‘Payne’ stitched on the arse, a shameless pun on the buns (‘get it? I’m a PAYNE in the ass!’ he’d proclaimed.) There was really no saying which had piqued their interest.

“But, on second thought, can you gay folk even  _know_ biblically? Like isn’t that a sin?”

Only Liam would have the tenacity and cluelessness to get away with saying that.

Louis rolled his eyes, partially because Liam could be a bit of a dolt (albeit a lovable dolt) and partially because he wasn’t actually certain how to answer his question. What he  _did_ know was that he would be quite content knowing Harry in every which way possible, with or without the blessing of a two thousand year-old collection of words.

 

Half an hour later, a case of beer in hand, and an unenthused Liam in tow, Louis knocked on the door of Niall and Harry’s flat. As he bounced on the balls of his feet he noticed the paint chipping along the door frame and the metallic number  _18_  crooked on it’s screws under the peephole—details Louis hadn’t noticed the first time he’d been there due to him being plastered before even crossing the threshold.

He heard Niall’s familiar bellied laugh growing louder, and a few other muffled shouts, before the door swung open with a loud creak.

“You came!” Niall said eyebrows raised, and grinning. How could anyone not adore this boy? Everything he was evoked good beer and green grass on a Sunday afternoon.

“Hiya, mate.” Louis greeted with a smile. “I brought along my flatmate. Niall, this is Liam.”

“The more the merrier!” Niall enthused and leaned forward to shake Liam’s hand. “Pleasure. Now, come in, come in. And take your shoes off if you don’t mind. Harry’s a bit of a neat freak.”

 _Is that so?_ Louis thought to himself in mild intrigue as he indulged. Niall must’ve had to hire the entire borough to help clean up after the cataclysm that had taken place there Tuesday night. He caught a glimpse of an unfamiliar ginger leaning against the counter in the kitchen area nursing a beer. So far no Harry in sight. God, he really hoped he would show up. He wasn’t sure he could suffer through board games without the promise of the curly haired boy.

Liam slipped off his boots and began gazing around the shared space.

“Wicked onesie, by the way.” Niall remarked as he headed towards the fridge, wordlessly taking the beer from Louis with a grateful nod on his way.

“ _Thank you_.” Liam over-enunciated. “This one here, almost wouldn’t let me leave the house in it.”

Louis rolled his eyes, but before he could come up with a suitably witty comeback, another voice spoke.

“I like the ass.”

Louis turned around to see none other than Zayn Malik, seated in a recliner, a spliff alight between his olive forefingers. His hair was quiffed to a fucking tee, and yes he was every bit as fit as he’d been yesterday in class. Louis marvelled at how he’d finally managed to land an encounter with him outside of class this time without even trying.

“Oh, hey.” Louis said with feigned nonchalance and Zayn nodded in acknowledgement.

“See, Lou? Some people appreciate me for being who I am!” Liam proclaimed (entirely unphased by a stranger complimenting his ass and/or the stitching found on it) earning a wholehearted laugh from Niall.

“That’s Zayn!” Niall called over his shoulder from the fridge, whose contents he was shifting around to make space for the beer. “And this is Ed.” He said signaling to the left with his head.

“Hi lads.” Ed said, raising a few fingers in a friendly little wave from where they were gripping his forearm. His bashful smile was enough for to Louis decide that he liked him on the spot.

“Hi and hi.” Liam said quickly to each of them, and shot Louis a look accompanied by a not so subtle nod in Zayn’s direction as if to say ‘is this  _the_ Zayn?’ Louis ignored him, instead smiling at Ed with a ‘Hi mate’, before turning back to Liam.

“And I  _do_ appreciate you, you twat. It’s just that not everyone has to put up with the  _bad_ batman movies and a constant stream of the Beastie Boys twenty-four-seven.”

Liam raised his eyebrows, with no remembrance of his Zayn inquiry from just a few seconds before.

“See that’s where you’re wrong, because  _all_ of the Batman movies are good.”

Zayn looked between the two of them slowly with a pleasantly dazed expression. Louis wondered how many hours out of the day the guy was high. Graphic Art seemed like a feasible area of study to support an around-the-clock lifestyle of weed.

“Has anyone seen Paul Revere’s collar?” A deep voice seemed to come out of nowhere, and Louis snapped from his reverie to locate the source of it.

Harry was standing in the door of the hallway leading to the bedrooms, his chest engulfed by a gargantuan long-haired grey cat. His hair was tied up loosely in a bun that brought attention the sharp edge of his jaw and...fuck. He was wearing tight black Nike trackies that left nothing to the imagination. The sleeves were rolled up on the white t-shirt he wore, emblazoned with a ‘G’ that Louis was vaguely aware belonged to some American sports team. Louis felt privileged to be one of the few to get to witness the intimate sight of a God in sweatpants.

When Harry finally spotted Louis, his face warped into a puzzled stare and his mouth fell open a few centimeters.

That was most definitely not the reaction Louis had been hoping for.

“What are you doing here?” Harry said innocently enough— not intending to be rude, just surprised. The cat even turned it’s head from it’s position on Harry’s shoulder to size Louis up.

And fuck.

Louis really hadn’t seen this coming.

“Er... Niall invited me.” He said, his confidence waning as his eyes darted to Niall who was now conveniently staring at his phone.

“Oh.” Was all Harry responded before bending down to allow Paul Revere to leap safely to the ground ( _naturally_ his cat was named after an American revolutionary.) “Well, welcome.” He said straightening up.

It was friendly enough, but Louis couldn’t help the mad surge of disappointment that flooded his veins. Harry had never mentioned wanting Louis to come, had he...

Niall slid his phone into his pocket, in one swift motion and clapped his hands together. “Can I get you lads some beers?”

They all looked to him, and Niall smiled widely, avoiding Louis’ gaze. This was all a set-up and Louis didn’t like it one bit. What was Niall playing at?

“Yes, please.” Liam said, heading for the couch near Zayn’s chair.

“Yeah, that would be great.” Louis muttered, and leaned against the archway to the kitchen. Was Niall attempting to set them up? Or did he just want to assure that the air was clear between Louis and Harry? Louis didn’t like to be on the receiving end of any scheme, and shit he really hadn’t thought the Irish boy had a conniving bone in his body.

Harry scratched his head and moved slowly through the kitchen in his bare feet.

“I took it off earlier to groom her and I can’t find it anywhere.” Harry said to Niall holding the fridge open for him. The collar, that must be what they’re talking about.

Louis studied the fridge door which was plastered with strings of magnetic words, family photos, antique postcards and sports tickets. He felt strangely uncomfortable. The situation seemed far too familiar to be sharing with people so unfamiliar. Their flat, their casual clothing, and their comfortable domesticity was all too intimate; he felt as if he were intruding. Even the ginger and Zayn felt like furniture in the flat, worn and familiar with a right to be there.

“Did you check all around the sofa?” Niall said backing out from the fridge with his hands full of drinks and nodding for Harry to close the door.

Harry frowned, taking one of the beers from him. “Yeah, twice.”

“I don’t know what to tell you mate. It will show up.”

Ed cleared his throat. “Have you checked Niall’s room?”

Niall looked genuinely confused, looking to Ed. “What? You know he’s not allowed in there.”

Harry grinned at Ed who was chuckling over the lip of his beer. He put his free hand on his hip, struggling to compose his face and unable to conceal his dimples. “Do you have a kink you’re keeping from me, Nialler?”

Niall laughed easily, shaking his head. “Believe me Harry, you would know by now.” He stepped forward offering Louis a beer. “Here, Louis.”

Harry and Ed looked to Louis, and fuck— for once in his life he didn’t want the attention.

“Cheers.”

Despite being a manipulative cunt, Louis still had to hand it to Niall for knowing how to keep the mood light in a room. Louis took his weight off the wall to stand upright. Niall moved to follow him out the kitchen with the others in tow. “So what are we playing?” Louis asked over his shoulder.

“Harry?” Niall redirected. and just like that, Niall was back to fulfilling his duty as middleman. Great.

“Risk!” Harry proclaimed enthusiastically, before taking a swig of his beer.

Zayn whined lethargically from his chair. “I have classes and a job and a life.”

Harry moved to a cabinet across the room, abandoning his beer on the coffee table. “Well, I have none of those things.” He lied. “And the night is young. Get your bum out of that chair. We’re sitting on the floor, there’s not enough space around the coffee table.”

Zayn moaned audibly as he slunk to the floor, which earned him a chuckle from Liam. Louis helped Niall push the coffee table aside and took a seat on his knees. When Harry returned carrying the box, he took the last available space in the circle they’d formed – between Louis and Niall. Louis wondered if Niall had left the gap intentionally.

“I want to be on a team. There’s no way I have the brainpower to man an army myself right now.” Zayn pleaded.

“There’s six of us. I reckon we could just make three teams,” Niall suggested, watching Harry unpack the box while pleasantly sipping his beer and making no offer  to help.

“Good thinking.” Harry said not lifting his eyes, and furrowing his brow intently as he sifted through the little baggies. He really was a dork. Louis was still trying to reconcile these two visions of Harry, one being the obsessive geek whose idea of decor consisted of muskets and reproduced portraits of George Washington (Louis was pretty sure he was looking at a shrine above the mantel) and gave tours of historical ships in 18th century Royal Navy attire, and two, the relaxed University student who belonged seamlessly to this century, watched gay dramas, and radiated effortless sex appeal. Louis realized that people could have diverse interests and facets of their personality, he’d just never encountered a more baffling combination.

Niall continued about teams.

“Ed and I can be together cause we’re next to each other, Liam and Zayn you two…” The next part he said a little more tentatively “and Harry, you and Louis?”

Harry glanced at Louis from the corner of his eye. “Okay.” And continued sorting pieces.

Louis cursed Niall. This was going to be fifty shades of awkward.

Seating arrangements be damned— he was definitely trying to set them up. Louis prayed Harry knew nothing about it and was too oblivious to catch on. The embarrassment of Louis appearing to be desperate or worse yet, a voluntary accomplice in Niall’s plan, would surely eat him alive.

Harry leaned across the board doling out the small packets of colored plastic infantry to the other teams. He turned his head to Louis. “How do you feel about red?” He held up a baggie of transparent soldiers.

Apparently Harry was not above caring about their team color, and Louis felt unduly touched that Harry was involving him in the selection process.

“Good.” Louis said, clearing his throat. “Nice and visible. Color of bloodshed. I like it. ”

Harry smirked at him and poured the bag out in front of their knees. Together they began arranging the pieces, adjusting the little soldiers so they were standing upright. Once or twice their fingers brushed when reaching for the same piece, and despite his best efforts, Louis blushed just a little. He swore Harry was having a degenerative effect on his maturity; if he didn’t get a hold of himself soon he’d be back to plastering posters of Cristiano Ronaldo on the interior of a locker somewhere. Thankfully, Harry didn’t seem to notice.

“So…” Harry said to Louis, keeping his voice low and in a way that was far too professional for a casual board game night. “I propose we focus our efforts on North America.”

“Of course you want North America.” Louis smirked.

This boy was nothing short of comical.

Harry rolled his eyes but smiled too.

Did he just get away with teasing Harry without ensuing backlash?

“I’m not a  _total_ fanatic. Strategically it makes sense. You see,” He began and leaned back whispering in Louis’ ear and covering half of his mouth to ward off eavesdropping. “...if we can conquer it, that’s an additional five troops per turn, and it’s not quite so conspicuous as going straight for Asia. Plus, it means fewer borders to defend.”

Louis could get used to this close proximity and Harry’s hot breath warming his already much too pink cheeks.

“Fine.” Louis conceded. He wasn’t too concerned with their status in the game, and trusted Harry to put considerably more thought into their army’s tactics.

As each team took their turn adding pieces to regions of the board, Harry’s eyes flickered around the circle. He shot the occasional glance back to Louis and when their eyes met he gave him a smug look, barely containing his giddiness that his scheme was going as planned. His excitement was infectious and utterly adorable.

By the end of a few rounds, Harry had earned them a stronghold in North America, with their army extending in all directions.

“How did that even happen?” Ed questioned, glum that he was about to lose his dominion over South America if his next roll wasn’t a good one.

Louis found his competitive streak increase with each turn they played— perhaps to an inappropriate degree. He was thrilled that he’d been placed on a team with a Risk fucking wizard, and not in the slightest bothered that the upper-hand they’d achieved in the game was in no part the result of his contribution.

“I don’t know mate. Maybe when you don’t keep an eye on your hoes.”

And now Louis was comparing foot soldiers to ‘hoes’ and he wasn’t even drunk.

“What, they  _die_?” Ed retorted, because no, that really hadn’t made sense.

Harry watched the exchange calmly.

“No…” Louis started, not sure if his pride would make it out of this unscathed. “They begin to fraternize with the enemy, abandon their loyalties, and then poof.” He made an explosive gesture using both hands as if that would elucidate his argument.

“What he’s trying to say,” Harry interjected, coming to Louis’ rescue. “Is that we seduce your men.”

Louis plunged his head forward, grateful to Harry for stepping in and liking where he was taking this. “ _Exactly_ , Harold.” He held out his palm and Harry slapped it unthinkingly.

“...Convince them to have one hundred percent consensual sex with us, and then, once we have them in a compromised position, we slaughter them ruthlessly.”

Louis studied the profile of this suave partner of his and those cherry red lips. They really did make a good team. Addendum: Harry was great to have on one’s team.

“ _Boomtown.”_ Liam bowed his head in praise as if he were dropping a bomb on the board. “You just got schooled.”

“And...you’ve ruined it.” Louis declared, with a sigh. At that, Harry’s serious brow relaxed as he relinquished all of his previous composure and giggled.

 _He_   _giggled._

 

 

 

Four beers later, and Louis and Harry were still taking the world (or rather the board) by storm. The others put up a fight, but no one’s grasp of probability and sense of when it was smarter simply to surrender held up so well as Harry’s.

“Another play, another slay.” Harry quipped and pretended to whip his hair (which was still high in a bun) over his shoulder. Little wisps of his curls had begun to sprout out here and there, softly framing the sharp angles of his face, and his cheeks had flushed to a rosy hue. Louis could’ve sworn the boy was glowing, but then again, maybe that was just the light from his halo.

“ _Fucking cheater_.” Niall grumbled, taking a long swig from his beer.

“Once more. You shitheads.” Liam droned, limply shaking his dice-full fist from where he was lying belly down on the floor. Zayn had collapsed his head on Liam’s shoulder awhile ago and would open his eyes from time to time to watch for a few moments before his lids drooped shut again. Louis hadn’t thought for one moment to be jealous about it, not when he was receiving frequent attention from the angelic boy beside him.

Harry rolled his dice onto the carpet as Liam did the same. He threw his hands in the air once he’d performed the necessary arithmetic.

“ _And Larry takes Africa_ _!_ ” Harry shouted, mocking a sports commentator, then reached out to grab Louis’ knee.

Louis was definitely tipsy but not so much that he missed that name drop.

“‘Larry,’ really? You could’ve consulted me about our team name.” He intended for it to sound bitter, but it came out entirely unbothered and more fond than anything. Oh well.

Harry turned to him innocently. His left hand was still resting on Louis’ leg. Louis’ slowed mind thought hopefully that the move was a sign of affection. Harry was certainly feeling the alcohol too, Louis could tell by the way he was swaying on his knees and no longer recognized the concept of personal space. Miraculously though, he hadn’t lost an ounce of his concentration or his extensive knowledge of game theory.

“What, you don’t like it? It’s Louis and Harry combined.”

“Yeah, I got that. Not terribly original though, is it?”

Harry looked at him blankly for a few moments, and Louis swore he could’ve counted his individual eyelashes. That sounded like a fantastic pastime. Louis thought he should look into what it would take to make a career of it.

“What’s your last name?” Harry said eventually.

“Tomlinson.”

Harry made a pensive face. “Larry… Sty...lin..son.” He said struggling over the syllables. “Larry Stylinson.” He repeated with more confidence, a slow and utterly ridiculous grin stretching across his face. “Better?”

Louis shook his head with a ‘no’ but couldn’t help a dopey smile from invading his own face as the dork that was his teammate and possibly the love of his life beamed at him. Dramatic maybe, but Louis was certain that Harry was some deity of sex and adorableness in the tattooed flesh.

“Now, Louis  _Tomlinson_ , blow me, will you?”

It felt like a whole three minutes passed before Louis noticed Harry’s outstretched hands cupping the dice in front of him. Jesus, he was more drunk than he’d thought. Harry  _Styles_  (his brain calculated the name with far too much effort) with his green eyes and terrible innuendoes was quite positively going to be the death of him.

 

~~~~

 

“Where did you hide the remote?” Liam whined, rifling through papers on their counter.

Louis sat calmly at the table, enjoying an unusually quiet breakfast of Wheetabix.

“Not telling.” he said, swallowing a healthy mouthful.

“Hey,” Liam said, distracted already, and picked up a notecard from the pile. “Did you ever respond to this?”

He was referring to an invitation to Louis’ uncle’s wedding.

“No… I’m still trying to come up with an excuse not to go.” Louis stirred his cereal idly. “It’s so  _far_.” He moaned, pushed the bowl away with a sigh and began to palm his eyes.

Liam pulled up a stool at the counter and continued sifting through their remaining unopened mail.

“Ungrateful, Tommo. Do you know how many people would kill for a paid vacation to America?”

Louis shot Liam a dirty look.

“Maybe if my default wingman wasn’t choosing a bloody internship over me, I’d consider.”

He knew Liam was right though. Not everyone had a wealthy relative who would buy him a flight anywhere in the world with a simple phone call to an assistant. If he was being honest with himself, the whole thing made him a bit uncomfortable. His image of his uncle was still one of the man flipping burgers on his family’s back porch in Doncaster. Now he was mingling with the likes of David Beckham and Kate Moss at the Brits after party. Louis didn’t know how to relate to him anymore and couldn’t fathom why he would voluntarily spend time with his loud, much too nosy, middle class family. Surely the man’s acts of generosity were out of guilt or obligation, and Louis did not enjoy being the object of someone’s philanthropy.

Liam looked up and rolled his eyes. “Again, calling me your ‘default’  _really_ makes me want to do things for you.” He said bitterly. “But your family will be there, Tommo. You don’t need me there.”

“No, that’s precisely why I need you there. Whenever I go on a family exclusive vacation I end up getting roped into babysitting the entire time. And I think my family likes you better than me anyway.”

Liam scratched his scruff. “Not true.” He was now flipping through pages of Louis’ Vogue, and barely listening. One-hundred percent straight? Doubtful.

“Speaking of people who prefer you to me…how about Zayn the other night?”

Liam continued raking his eyes over the countless pages of advertisements that made up the bulk of the magazine, no reaction to Louis’ claim. “How do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, now. He was hitting on you the entire night.”

Liam looked up at that, perplexed. “Hitting on me?”

Louis nodded. “‘ _I like your ass .’”_ Louis imitated Zayn lackadaisically.

Liam shook his head quickly. “ _The_ ass. He was complimenting my onesie.” Liam countered defensively.

Wow. He’d remembered the actual wording. Louis had underestimated his friend’s observational skills.

“Whatever you say.” Louis said smugly in surrender, and pulled out his chair and moved to stand. He dropped his cereal bowl in the sink. He would clean it later, he wouldn’t leave it there for Liam, he really wouldn’t.

On his way to out of the kitchen, he detected a distinctly rosy tint to Liam’s cheeks as the boy’s gaze refocused on the fashion magazine.

 

~~~~

 

Harry was already sitting, or rather  _spinning,_  on a stool, by the time Louis arrived to the studio several days later. He was pushing off of the work table for momentum and whirling madly like a bored child who’d found himself a very temporary means of entertainment. He stilled himself on the edge of the table as soon as he caught sight of Louis on one of his rotations.

Harry blushed, his relaxed curls brushed his shoulders. His head was swaying, almost imperceptibly, like a spinning top that’d just begun to falter.

“Dizzy much?” Louis said smirking as he moved towards the work table.

Harry glanced to the side of the room, a blush spreading across his cheeks.

“You weren’t meant to see that.”

Louis chuckled.

“One can’t always be poised, regal and ready for naval combat.” Louis said as he swung his bag over his shoulder and onto the table with a thud.

Harry bit his lip and looked down at his lap. Louis couldn’t tell whether he was trying to hold back a smile or a wince.

“I guess not.” He returned his gaze to Louis with a reluctant smile. “How are you?”

 _Pleasantries were new_   _._

“Good. Took me forever to get here. Sorry. The Southeastern was closed.”

“I don’t mind.”

Was this what it felt like to be in Harry’s good graces? Harry had been charming and amicable the other night but he’d also been very drunk. Louis hadn’t expected to see this side of him sober.

“You live in Stratford?” Harry asked curiously.

“Good guess.” Louis took a seat next to him, more than a little flattered by Harry’s sudden interest in his life. “How are you?”

Harry brought his hands together in front of him and twiddled his fingertips together like an evil genius. “Ready to model your creation.” He grinned with a slightly maniacal expression.

Louis snickered.

“Alright.” Louis stood and moved towards the corner of the room where he kept a rack of his pieces. “It’s not too late to alter it if there’s something you’re not happy with.” He called over his shoulder.

Harry followed behind him.

Louis noticed a brunette girl with cat eyed glasses seated at a table not far from his rack. He recognized her from his costume design class and was vaguely certain her name began with a ‘T’. Tessa? Terese? Either way, he’d made a point earlier on in the term of not liking her. There was nothing wrong with her per se, she was just the only one in their shared class that made pieces that weren’t absolute shit. Admittedly, she was quite good. And Louis really did not like being outshined by a Californian who’d swooped in on her Junior Year Abroad and was determined to launch an Owl City revival.

The girl looked up when he passed and he nodded briefly in acknowledgement as not to invite further interaction. Harry gave a friendly ‘Hello’ as he passed her table, and Louis thought to himself that he could probably learn a thing or two from this new Harry about etiquette.

Louis combed through the articles of what was to be his Spring/Winter collection. Harry eyed the other pieces with intrigue, scanning his eyes over their details quickly to keep up with Louis’ hunt for the jacket.

“Here.” Louis said, landing on Harry’s jacket and freeing the hanger from the rack. He held it up for a Harry to view.

Harry was silent. His expression grew serious and his eyes traced the garment patiently from top to bottom. He reminded Louis of a Xerox machine. Louis had never wanted to get off with a copier, but maybe Harry could make him reconsider.

Louis was very pleased with how it had come out. He’d spent far more time on it than he should’ve allotted for an apology favor. The thing was he wanted it to be good for Harry. So good that Harry would forget all about his wrecked Washington bust and would wonder why he’d ever been so furious with Louis. So good that nothing Harry could buy in any dweeby reenactment shop in London could compare to the stiff fabric stitched and caressed by Louis himself.  So good that Harry would see no alternative but to drop to his knees right there in the studio and blow Louis senseless, and afterward allow Louis to lick butterscotch from his dimples.

He was fairly sure he wasn’t going to succeed on all those fronts but he’d made a valiant effort and was more than content with his work. The only thing wearing away at his confidence now was the still speechless boy who hadn’t exhibited any clear signs of approval or otherwise.

“Louis,” Harry said softly, after what felt like centuries. He reached out and softly ran his fingertips along the sleeves of it. “It’s incredible.”

Louis exhaled audibly a sigh of relief.

“I’m glad you think so.”  _More like ecstatic_. “Now go on, try it on.”

Harry’s eyes shot up to Louis’, and his contemplative lines of his faces melted into an excited smile.

Louis held open the jacket, moving towards Harry to help him into the sleeves. In the process, he couldn’t help but notice how broad Harry’s shoulders were compared to his own. He ushered him a few feet to the side where there was a mirror.

Harry studied himself in the mirror, adjusting the collar. He really did look fantastic. The dark blue and gold details intermingled stunningly with his skin. If he wasn’t wearing skinny jeans and a scoop neck t-shirt, he’d be the perfect subject of an 18th century painting. Not that he didn’t already deserve daily portraits.

“How will they resist me now?” Harry sing-songed.

 _How do they ever resist you_   _?_  Louis’ mumbling stream of consciousness added.

“Who?” Louis raised his eyebrows. “The lads and lasses of the world?”

Harry turned his head to him and chuckled.

“No. Well, them too.” He reconsidered and frowned. “Actually, no not them. And not at all a fault of yours. It’s just in my experience trying to pick up said lads and lasses in period outfits doesn’t usually pan out.”

Louis was pretty sure that was the best admittance of bisexuality he was going to get from Harry. He stowed away this new information with a nod, resisting the urge to recite a list of reasons of why the general populace might not find reenactors attractive, and a second list for why Harry was the exception.

“What I meant was— you know the ship I told you about before?” Louis nodded. “Well they’re taking it to America. It’s booked for a massive exhibit at a museum in Boston, and they’re hiring a crew to sail it across the Atlantic. It’s going to be amazing. It’s gaining a lot of publicity and they thought they should do it properly, as it would have been during the American revolution. Going to be insanely historically accurate.” His eyes lit up at that.

“So you’re hoping to be on it?” Louis supplied.

“I would  _kill_  to be on it.” Harry corrected him as his face returned to the mirror. “And I think I have a pretty good shot, you know, with the time I’ve been giving tours.”

“That’s brilliant.” Louis said and he meant it. Though he didn’t fully understand Harry’s obsession with naval history, he could see why this was a big deal and a desirable event to be a part of.

He refocused his eyes on the jacket and took a step closer to examine the fit.

“Will you hold up your arms for me?”

“Yes sir.” Harry obliged and Louis checked the seams under the armpits. He’d been concerned that the arms would be too tight, but all looked good so far. He circled behind Harry just to be sure, and ran his hands along either sleeve to see how taught they were.

Out of nowhere, Harry bellowed:

“I’m flying, Jack!”

It took Louis a moment pick up on the reference to the iconic Titanic scene. Harry had cast himself as Rose, and by virtue of his positioning (and perhaps more) Louis was Jack behind him. Louis tried not to think about the symbolism there.

“You are too much.” Louis said quietly shaking his head. That wasn’t entirely true, Harry wasn’t  _too_  much of anything. Every physical and nonphysical ratio that governed the boy had been calibrated in the lab of an archangel. Harry glanced over his shoulder at Louis, grinning like an idiot and far too pleased with himself.

Louis couldn’t rid his face of a smile as he completed his loop around Harry and finished facing him. He found himself crossing his arms and staring aimlessly at Harry’s torso. Louis bit his lip. It fit him so well.

Harry had a very nice body, the perfect balance of boy and man. He had a bit more to him than the stick figures they had walking down the runways these days, but fit and toned nonetheless. He was any designer’s dream to dress. Louis was quite certain that anything he wore he would make look like sex.

“Could you do me a favor?”

Harry looked up from where he was tracing the outline of the golden ribbing of the sleeve.

“Can I put you in something I’m working on for my collection? ”

Harry nodded without reflection, a delighted smile returning to his lips. “Of course,  _obviously_.”

Louis moved for the rack. “I think it will fit you perfectly. I haven’t been able to see it on anyone yet.”

Harry shrugged out of the jacket and draping it over the edge of the table.

The piece Louis intended for him to try on was a light pink floral tunic—undeniably feminine. As of late, Louis had been taken by the androgynous look. Most of the shirts in his collection were made of thin, patterned materials that begged to to be worn with the top few—or the top six—buttons undone.

He returned to Harry as he removed the shirt from its hanger.

“Ooo,” He said clapping his hands together as he regarded the bundle of pink fabric in Louis’ hand. “I like it already.”

He pulled his soft t-shirt over his head easily, revealing a remarkably tattooed chest. His pale skin covered the subtle suggestion of a six pack, and what, was that butterfly across his stomach? Fuck. Harry was utterly unselfconscious standing in the open studio half dressed. Louis admired his confidence and even more so the body that merited it. He swallowed, handing over the shirt and averting his gaze to avoid the inevitable gaping that would occur if he allowed his eyes to linger any longer. He wanted nothing more than to trace every contour of his body and demand a complete history for each mark of ink that stained his ivory skin.

Harry located the arms and pulled the shirt on.

It was gorgeous.

He was gorgeous.

The edges of what must be birds that Louis remembered from a few moments before poked out around the neckline. Amen to minimal buttoning. He looked breathtaking.

Harry admired himself in the mirror, turning to see it from all angles.

“This is beautiful.” He said in awe.

Louis nodded automatically in agreement. His instantaneous response had more to do with the person wearing it.

“Can I have it?”

“No.”

Harry laughed and Louis reconsidered. He didn’t really care to see the piece on anyone else _._ Ever. He’d have to wait until after the presentation of his collection. Speaking of which, maybe he could even convince Harry to walk in it for him. He was getting ahead of himself, he only had half of the garments started and wasn’t even sure if Harry would still be in his life by then. What a dreary thought.

Harry was continuing to turn and eye himself in the mirror discovering new details of Louis handiwork with renewed amazement at each. He lifted his arms experimentally as Louis had instructed him before. At that precise moment the unmistakable sound of ripping fabric reverberated through the studio.

Harry’s jaw dropped as did Louis’ heart.

Abruptly, Harry slammed his arms down against his sides as if that would undo the damage, and Louis now understood the possibility of human semblance to a deer in headlights.

He rubbed his eyes, in childish hope that he could open them and do the last 10 seconds over and reach out to still Harry’s arms.

“Louis, I’m so, so sorry.”

Louis shook his head, and felt light-headed. That was only his favorite piece in the collection and the product of a shit load of work, which may or may not be repairable. He couldn’t really blame Harry though.

He swatted at the air, half-heartedly waving away Harry’s apology, still faint. His eyes fixed on the ground, unblinking. He felt Harry shift in front him, and looked up through his lashes to see what had inspired the movement.

The little bastard was fighting a smile. Louis glared at him. How dare he? He would’ve smacked him if it wasn’t already requiring a hefty sum of concentration to simply not caress him.

“It’s only fair. You know, an eye for an eye a tooth for a tooth?”

“Shut up.”

“Unfortunately, I’m afraid I don’t have any useful skills to offer you for my idiocy.”

“Stop talking.” Louis moved in to inspect the damage but Harry held his arms down firmly.

Harry looked pensive, furrowing his brow and ignoring Louis. “On second thought…”

“I’m sure you make a mean diorama, Harry. But no thanks.”

“I do, actually. But, no— I had something else in mind…”

Louis looked up from his hold on the blouse that clung to Harry’s middle and raised his brow.

Harry leaned closer and stage whispered with the side of his hand to his face.

“I’m not sure it would be entirely appropriate for this venue…you follow?”

Louis blinked.

Was Harry seriously implying something sexual? Surely he must be messing with him. Or  _was_  he _?_

It took everything in Louis’ power not to roll his eyes at the terrible delivery of the line. He was not about to risk ruining his chances of one day getting head from Harry Styles just to preserve the integrity of his sass. He could really get used to this flirty, jubilant Harry, but he wasn’t sure his bodily functions like breathing and blinking would be able to sustain themselves without the assistance of an operative brain. In the middle of his frantic pursuit of an equally suggestive and witty follow up, a voice interrupted him.

“Hey...uh, Louis? Do you have any drafting paper I could borrow? I think I left mine at home.”

It was that fucking girl. And apparently she knew his name.

Harry looked over, and Louis refused to remove his eyes from his profile.

“I like your glasses.” Harry said to her thoughtfully.

Why did everyone in his life possess the attention span of a goldfish?!

“Thanks!” She said cheerfully.

Louis wanted to pout, tug Harry by the sleeves and bring him back to the topic of sexual favors. Instead, he gritted his teeth and responded to her.

“Yeah, I probably have some somewhere.”

“Oh my god, that would be so rad.” She stood and made her way over to them.

_Who uses the word ‘rad’? What are you, a character on the O.C.?_

“I have all these renderings to do but nothing to do them on.” She went on.

“I’m Harry.” Harry said jutting out his hand to where the girl had come to stand.

“Theresa.” She answered, taking hold of his hand and smiling friendly. He hated to admit it, but she was actually pretty cute. For a girl, that is.

Louis sighed and moped over to his corner to find  _Theresa_ some fucking paper.

 

~~~~

 

Once again Niall had invited him, and now Liam too, to join him and Harry for a night of drinking. Louis was only marginally disappointed that the invite hadn’t come from Harry himself after they’d gotten on so well the other day. Harry had been enough at ease to drop innuendos and act out Titanic scenes, if that wasn’t progress Louis wasn’t sure what was.

This time they planned to stop at Niall and Harry’s before heading to their local pub to meet up with a few others. Liam agreed to come along ungrudgingly this time around.

Louis was feeling optimistic as the two of them navigated through the Underground. He was wearing his favorite black jeans and a simple black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up which showcased his biceps nicely.

“ _Been around the world_ — ” Liam sung and swung his head towards Louis expectantly.

“Don’t speak your language.” Louis spoke slowly.

“ _But your booty don’t need explainin’_.” Liam continued.

This was a game they played sometimes, Louis never sang and Liam always did.

“All I need to understand is when you—” Louis droned, robotically, gazing further down the escalator.

“ _Talk dirty to me_   _.”_

Liam fist pumped, bobbing his head along to an imaginary beat as he strolled off the top moving step. Harry was not the only dork in his life.

They rounded the corner and climbed a final set of stairs.

It was only a short block to the boys’ flat. Before Louis knew it they were knocking on the door, a surge of déjà vu overcoming him from a few weeks before.

The door opened quickly, and Zayn appeared smiling slowly. His gaze was directed at Liam.

“Hey.” He murmured.

Louis looked between the two of them.

“Hi!” Liam burst, tactless as ever.

Louis smirked. What a pair the two would make.

Zayn moved aside to allow them to enter.

“Come in.”

There were far too many bodies near the doorway and Louis felt claustrophobic as he scooted in. Crowds and velour sweatsuits—there were few things he detested more.

“Just in time!” Niall hollered, his head peaking out above the shoulder of an impossibly tall guy with mocha skin and dark grey eyes. Well shit, he was stunning.

Louis searched the rest of the mostly familiar faces. Not one of them was Harry’s. Not again.

“We were just gonna head down the street. Ed’s just gone to take a piss.”

Louis nodded as Niall moved forward through the crowded bodies. He was grinning ear to ear, more elated than Louis had ever seen him.

“Well, you look chipper.”

Niall nodded. “Am! Just passed my sound design exam!”

Passing must’ve been a surprise then.

“Hurray!” Louis congratulated him, sincerity at half-mast with other matters on his mind. He clapped Niall’s shoulder and hesitated with his hand still resting there. “So, er...is Harry coming then?”

Niall’s smile diminished until his lips were slack in a straight line.

“Don’t think so, mate. The lad hasn’t left his room all day.”

Louis stomach sank.

“Did he tell you about the boat?” Niall asked and Louis nodded. “Well, he got the news about the trip, and they didn’t offer him a spot. He’s really fucking torn up about it.” Niall sounded angry now, huffing. “Fucking bastards. If anyone deserves a spot, it’s him.”

“Shit.” Louis commiserated.

“I know. I just arrived from  _Bruxelles_  and Harry will not leave his bedroom.” The tall, stunning boy cut in with a thick French, Belgian, or whatever the fuck accent. Louis looked to him and felt an irrational pang of jealousy. He was gorgeous and he knew Harry, apparently that was all it took. Louis had reached a new low.

“Well, maybe I can try to talk some sense into him…?” He offered, directing his suggestion to Niall, and Niall alone.

Niall shrugged, doubtfully. “I’ve tried, but knock yourself out.”

Louis slipped off his shoes (he wouldn’t let the reason Harry turn him away be that he was tracking dirt across his flat)  and moved deeper into the living room towards the hall.

“We’re leaving soon though!” Niall called after him over the hubbub.

Louis nodded and knocked on the only door that wasn’t open. He pressed his ear to the wood. “Harry?”

No response. Maybe he wasn’t there after all. Maybe he’d made a run for it. Perhaps when Niall had gone to the loo or had his head stuck in the refrigerator he’d slipped out the fire escape. Maybe he was stowed away in the freight of some cargo ship and was on his way to America right now.

Unlikely. He was probably just ignoring him.

“Can I come in?”

Again, silence.

He figured he’d open it anyway, at the very least to disprove his escape theories. He twisted the door knob slowly and peaked his head inside.

A body was sprawled belly down like a demented starfish on the comforter.

Harry.  

He was still dressed in black skinny jeans that looked highly uncomfortable for prolonged sprawling and a white t-shirt. His eyes were blank and dead set on the wall beyond his bed. Had he really been here all day?

Harry made no sign of acknowledging Louis’ presence. Louis had been called a drama queen enough in his day to recognize the behavior in someone else. But he felt Harry’s pain too. He also knew that the times he’d thought that he wanted to be left alone were the times he had most needed company. Granted, it had to be the  _right_  company, and Louis wasn’t confident that he was Harry’s ‘right’ company. But he would never know the answer to that if he didn’t make himself available for the role.

Louis stepped further into the room and shut the door carefully behind him to dampen the noises from the others drifting in.

“Harry, Niall told me. I’m gutted for you mate. I really am. But you should come out with us. It might help you take your mind off it all.”

Well, that lacked imagination. So much for a creative, compassionate approach.

And? Nothing from Harry.

He stood at the foot of the bed and took the silence as an excuse to survey Harry’s room. He had a very eclectic array of belongings. There were flags (multiple American but exclusively the older outdated one with only 13 stars); there were posters of bands (none of which Louis had ever heard of), tiny elaborate models of ships lined up along the windowsill, and  _cats_. There were a lot of cat inspired things, pillows and bobble heads were just the beginning of it. Louis was struck by just how blatantly the room seemed to be a material composite of everything that fascinated Harry. He wondered what it took to qualify.

Louis looked down at a still despondent Harry and the eyes that hadn’t shifted from their firm grip on the wall, and thought:  _to hell with it_   _._ He dropped one knee and then the other onto the bed before crawling up and flopping down on the mattress next to Harry. Maybe this was an invasion of personal space but he needed to elicit a reaction from him somehow.

Harry didn’t shift from where his head was settled on the pillow between half-bent arms, but his eyes lifted to meet Louis’. They were expressionless for all of three seconds before attempting to return to their favorite fleck on the wall, which Louis’ torso was now blocking. His gaze remained there, fixed emptily on Louis’ shirt. Louis tried to keep his mind on the task at hand and abstain from ruminating on the fact that he was now lying in bed with Harry without objection.

“Come on,” Louis pleaded. “you’ll feel better if you come out and get drunk. Find someone to snog.”

Louis cringed at the thought of watching Harry kiss someone else, but if it would cheer him up Louis supposed he would take a blow for the greater good. As long as it wasn’t that Belgian guy.

“I’m not going.” Harry said with resolve. Finally words, but Louis really wasn’t sure how to argue with them.

“Louis!” He heard Liam bellow from beyond the door.

Harry’s eyes found Louis’ and watched him steadily.

This felt eerily like a test. A test made much more difficult by an unreadable and probing set of green eyes. Louis didn’t know what Harry wanted. He didn’t know if he was capable of being what Harry needed right now. Yet, something dared him to find out.

Louis called over his shoulder. “Go on without me! I think I’m gonna stay here!”

Harry looked at him curiously.

“You should go.” He said after a few beats. “Get drunk, snog someone.” He added bitterly.

Louis ignored his solemn tone, determined to weather this decision.

The front door slammed shut, and the loud voices withered away.

“What’s the expression? Misery loves company?”

“Yes, that is an expression.” He said sullenly. “But you’re not miserable. You’re misinterpreting it.”

“Well, maybe you can show me how to be.”

Harry furrowed his brow.

Strike three-hundred for illogical attempts at wit.

Louis sat up, determined to backtrack and lighten the mood a bit. “Have you eaten?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well, I’m starved.” That was an exaggeration, but he needed it to keep the gears in motion. “Is there good pizza delivery around here?”

“I guess.”

“I’ll go get my phone, I think I left it in my jacket.”

Harry made no comment as Louis exited the room and crossed to the front door where he’d abandoned his phone. He typed in his passcode and scanned a text he’d just received from his mum about Fizzy’s science fair in London. He was just about to text a response that he’d come when an abashed voice sounded from the other room.

“Can you…” Harry’s began meekly. “...get Vietnamese?”

Louis chuckled. He suspected this boy could only hold out for so long.

“Alright.”

Harry had appeared in the doorway to his bedroom, and Louis looked up from his phone.

“I know a place.” Harry said scratching his head.

Louis was more than pleased with Harry’s change of heart, and with himself for his decision to stay in with him.

Louis followed Harry into the kitchen as he got out two plates from the cupboard and fished through a drawer for some cutlery.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harry dictated the number. “I’ll have the Bun Tom Xao.”

Louis was equally impressed by his pronunciation and that he knew the number from memory. It was a daily struggle just for Louis to remember his postal code.

“What’s that?” Louis inquired.

“It’s like, shrimp and noodles, it’s delicious.”

“I don’t do prawns.” Louis asserted. His stomach churned at the memory of his and Liam’s last encounter with shrimp at a cocktail bar that they should’ve been more wary of. The place had been decorated with thongs, and not the lingerie, the footwear.

“Uh, Bahn Mi is also really good? It’s a sandwich, and you can get it with pork or beef or chicken.”

“That’s sound better.” Louis hit dial and leaned on the counter.

Harry moved to the couch in front of the television, bringing along the plates. Louis joined him once he got off the phone.

Harry leaned forward to reach for the remote and switched on the TV. He was making this whole comforting thing too easy for Louis. Where was the teeth pulling?

A golden ‘H’ brandished the bottom right corner of the screen and Louis groaned internally. Apparently, he’d spoke too soon.

He wanted Harry to be happy, he really did, but not at the expense of his own sanity.

“I know I’m like, here to cheer you up and all,” The words came out hesitantly. “but I kind of draw my line at the History Channel.”

Harry looked over at him, and gave him a small smirk. “That’s alright.” He said calmly. “What do you want to watch?”

That was far more gentle than Louis had anticipated.

“I don’t know, let’s see what else is on?”

Harry nodded and pulsed his finger over the Channel button.

Louis recognized a few series but it was all rubbish.

“You know, I’m really sorry about the boat.” Louis started cautiously, looking over at Harry. “They’re mad not to have accepted you.”

Harry looked down at the coffee table. “Yeah, well…there will be other boats.”

His words were awfully optimistic coming from someone who’d spent the day sulking in bed. His tone however, showed no sign of such hope. Louis didn’t know much about the world of preserved historical ships but he was pretty sure there would be none coming along to cross the Atlantic any time soon.

“We should do something reckless. Go vandalize it.” Louis urged. “We could TP it?”

“I’m not thirteen, and that’s not very reckless.” Harry responded dryly.

“Well,  _I_  am.” Louis retorted. “Thirteen that is, I’m not terribly reckless.”

Harry smiled.

Louis wanted to make that happen again and again until a loop of it played on the inside of his eyelids when he wasn’t there to witness it firsthand.

“We should do it. I think that’s exactly what you need.”

“Go right ahead, the doors open.” Harry said sharply.

Louis recoiled at the coldness in his voice. Okay maybe he’d pushed that idea a little too hard and maybe Harry wasn’t in the angry backlashing space of mind yet. Louis still felt burned. Perhaps he’d overestimated the extent of his welcome there.

“I’m sorry.” Harry said quickly and reached out to touch Louis knee. He removed it just as quickly as he’d placed it, leaving Louis disappointed in his wake. “That was harsh. It’s really nice of you to be here.”

Louis relaxed against the couch. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that with anything but sarcasm. “I have a barstool with my name on it. You better watch yourself. I  _will_  leave.”

Harry smiled.  _Actually_ smiled, and didn’t suggest Louis should be out at the pub with the others instead of there with him. Maybe Harry was even a tad grateful for his company.

 

“Jesus. You didn’t have recommend the messiest, most impossible to eat thing on the menu.”

Harry looked up amused, a noodle hung from his lips before he slurped it up.

Louis was just short of throwing a tantrum. He was holding the enormous sandwich out in front of him, bewildered at how best to attack it. The plate, his lap and a good part of the couch were already covered in crumbs from the flaky baguette. At least Harry was getting a kick out of it.

“I think I’ve made it snow.” He said referring to the mess he’d made.

Harry chuckled. Wasn’t he supposed to be a neat freak?

“I think you have to squish it. You know, compress the bread.”

“That’s just going to make more of a mess.” Louis frowned.

An impish look overtook Harry’s face. “You can make a mess all over my couch.”

Louis gulped. A slew of images flooded his mind, none of which involved bread. Or clothing.

His brain was blanking on where to go with that, so he did the only thing he could think to do and daftly took Harry’s advice. He tightened his grip on the bread tentatively, watching the baguette bits rain over his lap. Harry watched, enjoying himself.

The circumference of the sandwich was infinitesimally smaller. But when he released some of the pressure it seemed to expand back to life with more volume if anything.  _To hell with it_   _._ He raised it to his mouth and braced himself for a bite.

“ _Fit it in.”_ Harry chanted lowly.

Louis coughed, nearly propelling the sandwich across the room like a rocket.

Where was this coming from? And it couldn’t it come with a warning?  _Cum_ without warning  _. Jesus_. Louis couldn’t decide whether he wanted to facepalm himself for that one or let Harry in on his mind’s unintentional innuendos more.

Louis bit off and chewed what he could before grumbling through a mouthful.

“That’s not fair. You can’t make dick jokes while I’m eating this thing and you have fucking noodles.”

Harry shrugged unapologetically and waited for Louis to take another bite before his next quip:

“Will you ba _guette_ off with me?” He cooed, grinning unabashedly. His whole body was angled towards Louis’, his bent knee venturing unwaveringly towards Louis’ half of the couch. It wasn’t even a very large couch to begin with.

When Louis registered the pun he inhaled quickly, lodging a dry bread flake in his throat. He felt his cheeks flush to what was almost certainly the color of the sun-exposed part of a turnip.

Could it be that this was Harry’s subtle, not-so-subtle way of initiating something? Harry  _would_ see it fit to propose some form of physical intimacy with a pun.

“That was the worst...literally the worst pun I’ve ever heard.”

Harry only grinned wider before setting his empty plate on the coffee table and sinking back into the couch.

They both turned their attention to the TV. A rerun of last week’s X-Factor was on now.

And the moment, imagined or not, had passed, much to Louis’ resounding disappointment.

“She’s not half bad.” Louis commented on the singer between bites.

Harry contorted his face and let out a doubtful high-pitched noise.

Louis laughed. So far Harry hadn’t protested about watching the show.

Louis finished the last of his sandwich, put down his plate alongside Harry’s and brushed the crumbs from his lap. As he sat back Harry leaned over the side of the couch to retrieve a blanket, before wordlessly offering an end of it to Louis. Louis accepted without a moment’s hesitation.

They sat in silence watching. Harry scooted down further and stretched his legs over the coffee table, spreading the loose part of the blanket to cover them. Louis glanced over at Harry frequently, grateful for the dark flat that made it easier to do so discreetly. He tried gauging Harry’s opinion of the contestants on the screen based on the lines of his face. He noticed Harry’s eyelids drooping more lazily as they continued watching.

Louis shifted, propping his legs up on the table too, and in the process left his shoulder closer to Harry’s head, hopeful that he might use it as a pillow.

Harry took the bate almost instantaneously.

Louis stomach fluttered as Harry shifted his whole body positioning it more comfortably to lean his head heavily on Louis’ shoulder.

In a few minutes Harry finally gave into the weight of his lids and allowed them to drift shut. Louis smiled down at the boy rested on him. He could get used to this. Used to shared take-away, shared blankets, and Harry fast asleep on his shoulder. He wanted to kiss his forehead. He wanted to braid Harry’s hair. He wanted to march to the Thames and tell off whoever it was in charge of enlisting a crew for that bloody ship and demand they take Harry with them.

Careful not to wake him, Louis gently carded his fingers through the boy’s mess of hair with his free arm.

Harry let out an encouraging hum, and Louis stilled for a moment, fearing he’d woken him. But the even inhales and exhales of Harry’s breath persisted. Louis resumed, reveling in the softness of his hair and his even softer breath against his shirt.

The only thing getting in the way of Louis and a wholehearted elation was his arm, which was now very much asleep beneath the dead weight of Harry. He debated just suffering through it, but then his mind started conjuring up images from scenes of extreme medical series where limbs were being rushed through emergency amputations in the wilderness and it became unbearable. He thought he’d attempt to move it incrementally. Maybe over the course of twenty minutes or so, just to be safe.

He began slowly, trying to move his chest in the place of his arm so Harry’s head didn’t have far to fall. No such luck. Harry’s eyelids fluttered open. He raised his head lethargically and came to sit up.

“Sorry love, my arm fell asleep.”

Maybe ‘love’ was a bit much. People did say that casually, but they probably didn’t sound so fond when they did.

“Oh sorry.” Harry apologized earnestly. There was less than a foot’s space between their faces. Louis was pretty sure this was a new record. He was even lovelier up close now that Louis could make out the faint dusting of acne on his temple and count the creases that striped his bottom lip.

From the corner of Louis’ eye, a dark patch of ink peeked out from beneath Harry’s short sleeve. Louis hadn’t yet had the chance to satisfy his curiosity about Harry’s tattoos from the other day. As hard as it was to remove his gaze from Harry at this proximity, Louis miraculously found the will. He reached out to touch the smooth skin there, pushing the fabric up as he went and revealing an anatomical heart. The placement was a bit odd, but the design itself was intricate.

Harry didn’t so much as flinch with the sudden contact. He glanced down at his own arm for a few moments before returning to study Louis. His breath continued steady and deep, as if he were still transitioning out of his unconscious state.

“Vital organs for 400.” Louis simulated uncertainty. “What is...the  _heart?_ ”

Harry smiled, his nostrils flaring up in a way that made Louis want run him a bubble bath. God, he was so gone for this boy. If Harry was  _ship_ wrecked (Louis was really proud of that one), then Louis was really fucking lost at sea searching through the wreckage. And now Louis had stooped to using puns in tandem with metaphors, what had Harry done to him?

Louis pushed the sleeve up farther craning his neck to see the tattoo above the last that stretched around his arm out of sight.

It was a ship. Before his mouth could catch up with his brain he spoke:

“Is that the _—”_

“Yep.” Harry answered knowing what Louis would’ve gone on to ask. His words weren’t abrasive just tired, as if he’d discussed the boat enough in the last 24 hours. Louis nodded in understanding. A permanent mark on your body of a boat that had rejected you was sure to produce some pretty mixed feelings. He hoped Harry wouldn’t come to regret it.

He lifted Harry’s arm further to reveal the dark shapes higher up on his inner arm. Harry, on the other hand, had other plans. He freed himself gently from Louis’ touch, grasped the thin fabric at his neck and pulled his shirt over his head.

It was totally unnecessary, which only made its effect on Louis that much more profound. This beautiful display was just for him. What had Louis unknowingly done to be graced with a shirtless and expectant Harry waiting patiently in front of him?

Harry’s eyes were heavy with a look that was equal parts warm and serious. A look that Louis had never seen before.

Louis swallowed, grounding himself the best he could. He couldn’t ogle too obviously or Harry might see through the shallow sham of this tattoo ‘intrigue’, which was genuine, but not nearly as insistent as Louis’ urge to smother Harry in hot kisses. Especially if it meant he would put his shirt back on. Louis would have none of that. He studied his options carefully. Now that the full expanse of Harry’s chest was at his disposal his arm suddenly seemed less interesting. Two mirrored swallows occupied the space below each of his collarbones, how nautical. Aligned with them in perfect symmetry that Louis could appreciate were also two laurels, low on his abs, brushing over his hip bones. Unfortunately, they were probably too low for Louis to zero in on at this point in time. Louis settled on the middleground of the butterfly that he’d noted the other day.

He reached out, tentatively this time, seeking Harry’s eyes for permission. Harry didn’t give him the satisfaction of a clear answer. Instead he maintained his fervent stare, eyebrows arched slightly, leaving that heavenly crinkle between them. Louis pressed feather light fingertips to the butterfly—or rather  _moth_ , now that he was looking at it closely.

Harry let out a shuddering breath as soon as Louis’ fingers made contact with his skin.

Louis’ eyes shot up to read Harry’s expression.

_Was he…?_

Louis kept his eyes on Harry as he traced his fingertips lightly over the image some more. Harry released a deep exhale, and Louis watched in amazement as a muscle flinched in his neck.

 _He_ was having this effect on Harry. Harry who worshipped dead old white men, ships and cats (apparently). Harry who could have anyone questioning their sexual allegiance with a single flash of a dimple. Harry who was now placing a light hand over Louis’ outstretched arm and brushing his thumb mindlessly over the skin there.

Louis could feel the erratic beating of his heart in his ears.

He recognized the foreign look in Harry’s eyes, as his own eyes flickered between them.  _Affection._ And were those eyes bigger now? Or  _closer_ , rather, his muddled mind assessed.

Harry’s gaze flickered to Louis’ lips.

And Louis wasn’t sure when he’d leaned in so far, but it was something that had happened. Harry must’ve possessed a magnetic field of his own that Louis had been too distracted to feel the pull of. Harry was leaning in too, blowing hot breath across Louis’ cheeks.

It was Harry who closed the final distance between their lips.

He tasted like peanut and basil leaves.

Louis felt weightless.

After the initial contact, at first all either of them could do was let out a shaky breath against each other’s mouths in recovery. But soon Harry’s lips were moving slowly against Louis’ again as he pressed a delicate palm to his cheek. His lips were soft but insistent. Louis felt the familiar warm and excited knot in his stomach that he used to associate with Christmas.

Louis had kissed a lot of people in his twenty-two years, but no one had ever kissed him so gently and deliberately as Harry. Slowly, when he regained a small sense of feeling in his extremities, Louis spanned his hand flush against Harry’s chest. Harry relaxed into Louis’ palm with a sigh.  

Louis could sink into this, the feeling of Harry’s tongue teasing his bottom lip as their knees knocked lightly together. They took turns playfully pushing the other lightly, their bodies pliant, curving to keep their lips connected, no concept of haste.

The noise of keys and scratching metal echoed through the flat. Startled, Louis turned toward the sound and broke his contact with Harry and his perfect lips.

After a few moments of fumbling, the overhead light switched on.

Niall was guiding a stumbling Liam through the doorway.

“Oh hi.” Niall spoke wearily. “I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here, Louis.” He looked between the two on the couch. A tired flash of smugness shone through his pink cheeks.

Louis nodded numbly. He felt Harry’s eyes heavy on the side of his face and his fingers still resting on the side of his hip. Louis’ cheeks burned, but he couldn’t return the gaze. He feared if Harry caught a single glimpse of his face the expression on it would give him away. He’d see just how utterly wrecked Louis was and how obviously  _not_ casual Louis’ feelings for him were.

“I didn’t want to leave Liam to find his own way home. Thought he’d be mugged or end up on a bench somewhere.” Niall released Liam’s shoulder and propped him against the wall for support. Well done,  _Payne_.

“Thank you.” Louis returned, too dazed to think up anything vindictive he’d like to wish upon them for interrupting one of the best kisses of his life.

He could feel Harry’s fixed look shift slowly from him to Niall. Louis still didn’t dare steal a glance at him. On top of the terror of exposing his vulnerability, he was fully unprepared to see Harry in his current state with the lights on.

Niall shucked off his shoes, and padded into the room.

“You two are welcome to crash on the couches.” He offered, yawning.

Harry turned his attention back to Louis seriously and drawled:

“You can stay with me, if you’d like.”

And there it was. A much coveted invitation into Harry’s bed. Whatever that meant, be it cuddles or something more, Louis was one-hundred-and-ten percent game to find out.

He swallowed and mustered the courage to turn to Harry. The sight of him...his lips a darker shade of red than Louis had ever seen them...the greens of his eyes barely visible, dilated...almost sent Louis over the top and into a state of delirium.

“Well, I’ll let you lot sort that out…” Niall mumbled. “Bed is calling. ‘Night”

With that, he sauntered off towards his bedroom.

“Sleep well.” Louis announced belatedly.

Reluctantly he pried his eyes from Harry to turn to Liam who was staring at the floor, his head teetering on the stem of his neck. And  _fuck._ Therein lay the problem. Clearly, he’d passed the pleasure plateau some time ago and had ventured bravely into liability territory.

Louis desperately wanted to be tangled up in Harry’s sheets, to spoon him and kiss him until his lips were sore. But alas, slightly more he wanted not to have the damper of cleaning up Liam’s sick from all over Niall and Harry’s carpet and furniture.

Liam  _fucking_ Payne and the rediscovery of his kidney.

“I should probably, uh, get Liam home to his own bed.” Louis voiced weakly. “Wouldn’t want him doing permanent damage to your upholstery.”

Harry slackened his grip on Louis’ side, and his hand fell aside. He nodded. “Yeah.”

The glint of disappointment in his eyes was more tragic than either World War could have been.

With a sigh, Louis peeled off the blanket and moved to stand.

“But, I uh, I’ll see you soon, yeah?” Louis offered.

He hated the cautiousness in his own voice. He should’ve said something flirty, acted casual, tried to set the stage for more. It’s not like Liam was in any state to mock him for it, let alone conscious enough to notice. This timid farewell was not increasing any chances of his.

Harry nodded again. The stitch returning to his brow as he looked thoughtful.

Louis backed away from the couch with a definitive nod, easily earning the title of biggest twit in the room. He made his way over to Liam and slipped into his shoes en route. He clutched one hand on Liam’s shoulder and the other to his wrist. He glanced over his shoulder at Harry one last time.

First the ship had been the one to turn Harry down and now it was Louis. He hated the thought of him feeling rejected and alone in his bed tonight. But a part of Louis (a very small part, granted) thought maybe it was for the best that they didn’t rush into things, if there was any hope of this being a ‘thing’. Maybe it was better that they didn’t get too deep into something on the heels of Harry being upset and needing solace.

Louis let out a sigh in defeat.

He hoped Harry had a good pillow to curl up with tonight.

“Alright, you shithead. Let’s get you home.”

 

~~~~

 

Louis woke to the sound of retching and stomach contents splashing into a toilet bowl. He’d had a restless night of sleep as it was, tossing and turning and moaning in general sexual frustration through half of it. The last thing he needed was this shit on a Saturday morning—the one day a week he had carved out to sleep late.

He groaned and threw the covers off his body, accepting that he’d gotten all the rest he was probably going to. He crossed the room to open the blinds and tugged the string down. The sun flooded the room and he winced, squinting. When his eyes adjusted to the assault of light he glanced down at the street below. A handful of the passersby were wearing just t-shirts and sundresses. Wasn’t it only March? Had he not seen his own breath practically crystallize that past week? What had they done to this poor planet? Louis wanted the normal weather patterns back, and while he was at it, the ozone layer too. He knew how to dress for that world, and could access the appropriate season’s clothes without having to disrupt the feng shui of the entire flat to dig through storage.

He turned to his dresser and pulled on a pair of thin joggers. They clung to him indecently without the obscuring effect of pants beneath. If his choice in loungewear could help Liam come to terms with his sexuality it would be the least he could do.

Louis grabbed his phone from his nightstand and sauntered into the kitchen to make some tea. A cup of Yorkshire was the only saving grace on mornings like these.

Louis was reminded of last night, and the reason for his particularly sleepless night.

Those perfectly sculpted lips he’d finally gotten to taste...Harry’s offer for him to spend the night. A warm feeling spread through Louis’ limbs at the memory. He’d been so gentle and affectionate, and fuck—why had Louis left?

He heard the sound of a flush as he walked past the toilet.

His dopey and endearing best friend, that’s why.

Liam emerged from the bathroom looking pale.

“‘Morning, sunshine.” Louis called as he located two mugs.

He wondered how Harry took his tea. He wondered which ways Harry’s hair would stick up after getting out of bed in the morning.

Liam made his way over to the refrigerator holding a hand to his stomach. Louis switched on the kettle and leaned against the counter to watch his flatmate scan the contents of their shared fridge.

“You’re not going to find anything edible in there, I promise.”

“Uhhhhh.” Liam groaned.

Louis smirked shamelessly. He expended no sympathy on self-inflicted misery. “Words, Liam. Use your words.” He teased, sinking his hands into the pockets of his sweats.

After a few beats, “This is the worst.” toppled out of his mouth.

How many brutal hangovers and ruined day-afters would it take for Liam to occasionally opt for moderation? Louis wondered if Liam’s perpetual celebration that his second kidney was alive and well could possibly trigger an early onset of kidney disease. Wouldn’t that be ironic?

“I’ll do the shopping later today.” Louis attempted.

“Later? I’m hungry now.”

Louis shrugged casually. “Maybe you should think before depleting your system of all fluids and usable calories.”

Liam rolled his eyes with an “Okay mum,” and progressed to opening cabinet doors at random.

Louis garnered a great deal of satisfaction in being the one to do the nagging in their relationship. Liam made for an easy and highly rewarding target.

He bet Harry was the nagger in his and Niall’s friendship too. He probably lectured Niall regularly about separating the darks from lights when doing the washing and badgered him to use coasters on the coffee table. Harry probably hounded him to replenish the toilet paper when it came to its cardboard end.

_Where did Louis come up with these things?_

He dug the phone out of his pocket to itch a sudden curiosity. Was it totally pathetic to hope that maybe, just maybe, Harry had texted him? He unlocked the screen and sighed a flood of disappointment. There were no new messages from ‘IWANNA SHAGU’— as Liam had drunkenly (and much to Louis’ reluctant admittance, _fittingly_ ) renamed the contact for Harry in his phone. There were, however, 23 texts from Liam.

“Ah ha. I see that you had an eventful evening.” Louis remarked and skimmed through the mixture of gibberish and misquoted Beastie Boys lyrics (which Louis was not proud to recognize were even misquoted.) He landed on a picture. The picture must have been taken by someone else and featured none other than his Liam himself in a brunette longhaired wig, holding something covered in whipped cream.

“Holy fuck.” Louis raised the screen closer to face to confirm what he thought he’d seen. “Is that a dildo?”

Liam’s wide eyes shot to Louis.

_It was!_

Louis cupped his hand over his own mouth, stunned.

Liam slammed the door closed on the cabinet he’d advanced to and moved breathlessly to peer over Louis’ shoulder.

“Oh shit,  _oh_ shit,  _oh shit_.”

Louis surrendered the phone to Liam’s prying hand and doubled over.

“What did you  _do_ last night?” He let out incredulously between howls.

Liam shook his head, gaze still fixed on the screen. “Honestly, I don’t even know. The last thing I remember was going to some dodgy shots bar. After the second pub...” His frown deepened in consideration. “I think.” He added, uncertain.

The wig, the whipped cream, the dildo, a shots bar… Louis connected the dots.

“Oh my god, you did the Monica Lewinsky.”

He remembered the crude, performative shot from his first semester of Uni, which he’d spent touring the trashier bars of London. Louis was really more proud of Liam than anything. His friend had had his presumably first experience with a dildo. Congratulations were in order.

Liam was not taking this turning over of a new (and minutely gayer) leaf so well. His expression verged on horrified as he looked to Louis.

“That’s a thing?” Liam grimaced.

Louis nodded.

“Yes. A thing that,  _apparently_ , you did.”

Liam pushed the phone away from him on the counter and moved to press his forehead against the refrigerator door.

Louis renounced his earlier sentiment that Liam should learn to drink in moderation. If it meant Louis got to wake up to something this thrilling everyday his morning moods would show dramatic signs of improvement. This almost made up for having to leave Harry’s prematurely last night.

Almost.

The whistle of the kettle roused Louis. He shifted his weight off the counter to prepare their tea.

What was the appropriate amount of time to wait before contacting Harry? Louis contemplated the matter as he stirred his tea.  _Several hours? A few days?_ The last thing he wanted was to freak him out by seeming overly eager. For all he knew, it could be routine for Harry to kiss anyone who stayed on his couch beyond 11:30. Maybe he’d never imagined the taste of Louis’ lips before that moment, never wondered what  _Louis_ would look like after getting out of bed. Maybe he’d acted purely on impulse, without any prior meditation. Louis was pretty sure that he hadn’t entirely imagined that look in Harry’s eyes though, that fondness he’d seen in them.

Louis’ brain hurt from trying to piece together this boy’s intentions. Regardless, it was probably best Louis didn’t test his luck just yet and instead gave himself some time to unwind before finding out. He could use some time to process all of this and collect himself before he did something rash and ruined his chance of making whatever this was with Harry into something.

“Will you budge over?” Louis pushed at Liam’s hip. “I think there might be some sausages in the freezer.”

Liam resisted, one eye opening next to where his wrists were pressed against the chipped white luster of the countertop. He froze, unblinkingly.

“ _Shit._ ”

“What?” Louis inquired calmly. He took a sip from his tea as he waited for Liam to move.

“Have you seen my watch?” He turned to Louis, his eyes bulging in their sockets. Louis wanted to poke them.

“What, your stupidly expensive watch that I told you not to buy? No, I have not.”

Liam hadn’t taken the thing off since buying it after receiving his second paycheck during his very brief stint at Harrods. He had claimed it would bring him one step closer to his ultimate goal of becoming David Beckham (he was the spokesperson for the brand). There was legitimate cause for concern... it just wasn’t Louis’ concern.

Liam was already jogging to this bedroom on the hunt.

Louis pulled open the freezer drawer now that it was unguarded. He rummaged through packages of frozen vegetables and ice packs. Based on the amount of ice packs the two of them possessed one would assume they ran a clinic next to an amateur roller derby. He dug through the sea of plastic, travelling back in time through expiration dates, yet still no signs of sausage. From the bottom of the rubble he procured a ziplock bag containing three brown squares—special brownies. Something  _infinitely_ better than the sausages he’d been hoping for. Freezer burn gnawed at the edges of two of the pieces, but Louis was not deterred.

“Liam!” He shouted, straightening with the bag in hand.

“Did you find it?” Liam called back, appearing instantaneously in the door frame of his room, expectant.

“No,” Louis responded, raising a brow. “But I found breakfast.”

Liam’s face fell, his eyes settling on the ziplock bag. He frowned.

“You’re not serious, Tommo. I thought you’d have good news.”

Louis contorted his face in dissent. “This is  _great_ news.” He defended. “Say your watch  _is_ actually gone, so what—that’s the price of brief euphoria. Today is a new day...and I haven’t had a Saturday in ages that I haven’t had to be in the studio.” That had sounded a lot less selfish in his head. “  _Please_. Allow me this one thing.” Louis put his hands together in prayer.

Liam looked skeptical and just a smidgen vengeful.

“It could help with your nausea.” Louis offered— a surprisingly logical afterthought that should’ve been a more major bullet point during the first go round. “What do you say?”

Liam let out a defeated sigh. “Fine, I’ll join you in a minute. I’m just gonna check the bathroom first.”

Louis made no effort to conceal his grin. He grabbed both mugs of tea and practically skipped into the living room clutching the bag of brownies under one arm.

This Saturday might just turn out to be everything he needed.

 

The room felt heavy, or was that just Louis’ head?  _God,_ it must’ve weighed  _three_ tons.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, or exactly why he’d felt the need to go back into the kitchen when he knew there was nothing to be found in it. More tea maybe?

That sounded lovely.

He reached to switch on the kettle from his perch on the counter. He swung his legs idly, clicking his heels against the cabinet door and revelling in the rattling reverberations that the motion elicited from the stacked bowls inside. His mind drifted to those Russian dolls that fit inside each other so nicely.

“Mate,” Liam materialized next to the refrigerator, or maybe he’d always been there. “I can’t wait any longer. I have to eat.” He rubbed circles over his stomach, rippling his white t-shirt.

Louis began shaking his head before the words came to him. “But I’m making tea.”

Louis could see the gears turning in Liam’s head as his friend tried to make sense of that logic. “I don’t care that you’re making tea?” His words were tentative as if were testing the sound waves of his own mouth.

A delicate knock against wood resounded through the flat, bouncing off every surface in the kitchen and making Louis shudder.

“Are you...expecting someone?”

Liam frowned. “Does it look like I’m expecting someone?” He was genuinely curious and somewhat concerned.

“Go,” Louis nodded towards the door. “Please?”

Liam complied easily, ambling through the living room, grasping at each piece of furniture as he went.

Louis refocused his attention on a particularly oblong tile in the mosaic pattern on the floor. It must’ve been quite pretty once. Now it was all cracked and dulled by a layer of their grime. He should clean it up— restore it even. That could be a fun project.

“Hey there!” A voice boomed, much too loud for Louis’ taste.

He tried to crane his neck to see through the kitchen archway, but it simply would not crane. He slid off the counter, hyper-aware of the filth his feet were to now come in contact with. He tiptoed across the floor to minimize surface exposure and took one cautious step out of the kitchen and into the living room.

Blond hair, short—Niall.

Louis’ heart stopped.

A head of brunette curls bobbed into sight behind the Irishman.

_No. No. No._

This was not the moment.

He was not prepared for this.

Harry.  _His_ Harry. As in the Harry he’d snogged just the night before, was gazing with calm intrigue at what he could see of their flat.

Louis’ feet were glued to their square foot of taupe carpet, his whole frame rigid like a cat caught mid-sleuthing.

Harry’s survey came to a halt when his sights landed on Louis.

Their eyes met and Louis wanted to run for the hills... or the nearest Underground...or right into those long fucking tattooed arms. He was conflicted, but of this much he was certain: he would rather shrink into a piece of lint than be at the receiving end of Harry’s gaze at that moment. He felt an acute pang of self-consciousness in his skin and in his home, neither of which he’d had time to groom for the scrutiny of this very important guest.

Harry was biting his lip. His eyes trailed down Louis’ body, and  _fuck._  Was Louis wearing clothing? New color rose to his cheeks as a bout of terror overcame him. Slowly, he lowered his gaze down his own chest to find out. A wave of relief coursed through him only momentarily before anxiety regained its authority.  _Close call_. He was wearing those joggers, the ones that barely qualified. Taking his best stab at tact, he moved his hands together slowly, as if resisting magnetization, and clasped them in front of his groin.

Harry smirked at that, his dimples parading like inverted candy dots. Louis wanted to run his thumbs over the boy’s temples before pushing him out the door. He really shouldn’t be here. This was going to ruin everything. Addendum— _Louis_ was going to make a idiot of himself and ruin everything.

“Come in,” Liam waved at the air generally, and the two stepped inside.

How did they even know where he lived? Louis didn’t remember giving either of them their address.

“We were just on our way to the farmer’s market down the street, we go every Saturday.” Niall explained.

Harry studied Louis with a curious expression and Louis studied the floor. There were other people in the room, why couldn’t Harry look at them instead?

“Thought we’d drop off your watch.” Niall went on.

Liam’s jaw dropped obscenely.

Niall raised a brow in surprise. After a pause of confusion to which Liam offered no explanation, Niall fished in his pocket to retrieve the watch.

“You handed it to me at the second bar said ‘you couldn’t trust yourself with Beckham’. I don’t know if that’s your name for it or if that’s a testament to something else, but...”

For once in his post-pubescent life Louis missed the gay subtext in someone else’s words. His thoughts were otherwise occupied, caught swaying between potential escape routes and trying to remember what his hair had looked like in the mirror. Had he even looked in the mirror that morning? His brain was straining with the arduous task of short term memory. There had to be a way to bring this interaction to an end before he had time to fuck it up. Would it be rude to just walk away?

Louis made the mistake of glancing up. The green eyes that he witnessed flickering between him and Liam with increasing amusement only made it more difficult to muster mental capacity. They were bewitching. Louis couldn’t allow himself to get caught in their pendulum. There would be no coming back from that.

“Thank you.” Liam praised, reaching out to fasten the watch around his wrist in amazement.

Niall was flummoxed by the other boy’s incredulous behavior.

Harry’s smile had morphed into a smirk somewhere between his arriving on their doorstep and transmuting into a adult cherub. Why had cherub never occurred to Louis before? It was the perfect characterization of Harry: curls, dreamy eyes, and milky skin, adorned with unnecessary shrubbery just like his hip bones...

“You two, it’s not even  _ten-thirty_ and you’re totally blazed.” Harry remarked, breaking his silence, clearly entertained.

Niall glanced over his shoulder to Harry and inch by inch, understanding extended over his face like the the final tides of a deluge until he was swept up with a grin. Louis wished he’s been washed away in it, or fuck, even buried in the sand.

“Hah!” Niall let out, nodding in approval. “Good on you.”

“Louis’ idea. He found some pot brownies in the freezer.” Liam divulged.

Louis felt betrayed. It seemed accusatory and Louis didn’t like it one bit. Where was his best mate? Wasn’t it Liam’s job to expose only the sunniest sides of him?

“The early bird—” He opened his mouth to defend and shut it just as quickly. The rest of the idiom had vaporized as soon as he’d been dense enough to attempt speech.

Harry’s brow arched, his attention unwaveringly settled on Louis as he awaited the conclusion of the phrase. Their eyes locked together and in that moment Louis came to understand the meaning of tunnel vision.

“Catches the worm?” Harry finished, half an hour later or so.

Louis nodded dimly in response, his gaze involuntarily slipping down to Harry’s parted lips. They were carved, they had to be. No real lips looked like that. Sharp and soft all at once.

He could feel Niall’s prying eyes looking in their shared direction (which included half the room and a gulf as wide as two couch lengths between them.) Louis’ eyes dropped shamefully and relocated to safety on the back of the couch.

“Who’s hungry?” Liam cut in. Though he wasn’t interrupting anything but the quiet and Louis’ inner turmoil it still felt intrusive.

Louis recalled there being times when he’d felt hungry but couldn’t remember what the sensation felt like.

“I’m always hungry.” Niall responded, cheerfully. “You have something in mind?”

Liam looked back to Louis. “Corden’s?”

Unthinkingly, Louis found his head bowing in a nod.

What was that?

His own body was betraying him.

That nod had been an acknowledgement that yes, he recognized the name of their favorite local breakfast place not a  _yes we should all go._ He was captive to the impulses of his flesh—not an encouraging prospect.

“Brilliant!” Niall exclaimed, clapping his hands together enthusiastically and glancing towards Harry who looked soft and glowing as he nodded in assent. He belonged at a children’s tea party, not on their dingy doorstep. He probably drank his tea with his pinky lifted and insisted it was unintentional. How delightful he would look in pink boas, holding puppies and sharing scones with small children. Louis wanted to frame the image and hang it on an interior wall of his frontal cortex.

“Lou, go put some real clothes on.” Liam instructed.

Again Louis was reminded of his near nakedness. He swallowed a sharp gulp down his suddenly much too dry throat.

“Right...” He backed up a few steps, keeping his hands in place as guardians of his manhood and turned to his bedroom.

How had this happened? Where were his ‘you go on without me’s?’ His ‘thanks, but I’ll have a nap’s’?

Fuck.

His hands quivered as he pulled open his underwear drawer. He pulled some pants on, and stepped back into the joggers, in no state to pick out a more presentable outfit. As he pulled on a black t-shirt the seams on the cotton scratched his skin. He felt scarred, branded, and no, that couldn’t leave marks could it?

This was not good.

His heart had accelerated to an inhuman rate and made for a rather ominous soundtrack.

This was not a fun high. This was not the peaceful day on the couch with Liam that he’d signed up for. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he reached for his wallet. His cheeks looked sunburnt with fluster. His hair was a mess and not the kind of mess that 30 seconds in the toilet could mend.

Should he say he felt ill? It was accurate enough, wasn’t it? He’d already agreed to come by going off to change, hadn’t he? Perhaps that would seem odd...like he was trying to avoid Harry....which he would be, but purely out of self-preservation. Yet, there was  _one thing_ that he could imagine being even worse than making a proper idiot out of himself: seeing a repeat of that disappointment on Harry’s face from last night. Louis couldn’t stomach the thought of being a source of let down for him again. He wouldn’t do that to Harry. It might (almost definitely) mean embarrassing himself, just hopefully not irreparably so.

He stepped back into the hall and closed his door behind him.

This was brave of him, wasn’t it? Like, despite his utter terror, the noble thing to do? Maybe even the suicidal thing to do.

Liam was staring at the floor and Niall and Harry were discussing something under their breath when Louis reappeared in the living room. Louis kept his gaze miles away from Harry.

Niall raised his eyebrows and smiled enthusiastically. “Alrighty, shall we?” He proposed cheerfully.

Louis gave a small nod, surrendering to whatever mess was about to unfold. He headed for the coat hooks by the entrance as Liam and Niall ducked through the door. He sifted frantically through his and Liam’s winter coats in search of something lighter, allowing the discarded items to pile on the floor. Eventually, he unearthed a track jacket he hadn’t worn in months and decided it would have to do. His heart skipped a beat when he turned around to find Harry waiting patiently by the door, having just observed his panicked mess making.

Louis’ stomach dropped, and then swooped right back up his throat as if propelled by a trampoline—or those hammer games at carnivals that had always had a terribly emasculating effect on him.

Harry looked dazzling.

He almost sparkled.

Louis took in new details now that he was in closer range. He was wearing a hawaiian shirt; a canvas bag rested on his shoulder. His hands were clasped behind his back and his harnessed boots were adorably pigeon toed as he clicked his heels together. Like Dorothy. Harry was Dorothy. Rosy cheeked and pink lipped, Dorothy. And presently Louis was probably some pitiful cross between the Cowardly Lion and the brain-lacking Scarecrow.

“All set?” Harry asked.

Louis wanted to reach out and run his fingertips along his jaw.

He nodded instead, swallowing his awe. “Yeah,”

Harry turned on his heels with a skip-like bounce in his step, and Louis followed him out the door, clicking it shut behind them.

Small talk was not happening.

Louis kept glancing ahead at Niall and Liam, who seemed to be engaging in normal people conversation. Since when was Liam the more capable one under any influence?

Louis could barely hear the sound of Harry’s voice over his own pulse. He was pretty sure Harry had asked him about how he’d slept and said something positive about the weather. It didn’t take Harry long to realize that Louis was in no shape for casual conversation and stopped trying to carry one. Initially Louis was glad he’d let the questions go—he couldn’t say something stupid if he wasn’t speaking at all— but just as soon he grew to regret the silence. Words seemed like they could’ve proved to be a useful tool in redeeming his otherwise useless presence. He should be saying something. Apologizing or cracking a joke, making light of how uncomfortably high he was. Not just taking up space and oxygen, running out the clock on whatever moments he had left to spend with Harry.

Nothing came to him.  

Fortunately, they were sliding into a booth at Corden’s shortly, and Louis was feeling optimistic that he could melt into the vinyl cushioning and make his presence forgotten altogether.

Louis reached for a menu instantly upon sitting, looking to preoccupy himself, or rather, for a way of appearing preoccupied.

He was grateful that he ended up seated next to Harry, that way his eyes would be less tempted to gaze prolongedly. He could sense Harry’s eyes though, flitting to him periodically in his peripherals, as the others lost themselves in the four tiered menu. What was he thinking? Louis desperately wanted to know what Harry made of last night. Could these frequent glances of his be an attempt to garner the same information from Louis?

Louis kept his eyes glued steadfast to the lines of text and the occasional illustration.  _He could do this_ , he chanted privately.

Liam tossed his menu onto the table and stretched an arm out along the booth’s seat back.

Louis’ mind moved on to puzzle over certain items on the menu. What did a ‘Three Little Piggy _’_ omelet consist of? Ham, bacon and sausage, evidently. It seemed rather barbaric to interweave nursery rhymes and their subject’s slaughtering. Or maybe it was meant to be a euphemism? Were children really so short-sighted that they’d see ‘Three Little Piggy’s,’ squeal with recognition and forget the part where they were eating their three little piggy friends?

“No, way.” Liam muttered incredulously. He leaned forward and swatted at Louis’ hand across the table. “Tommo.”

He would not allow Liam to distract him from his self-distracting.

 _Not listening._ Louis hummed in his head, and continued to examine the menu.

Harry let out a brief chuckle. Had Louis just said that aloud? Apparently he had, and apparently he’d just made Harry partial laugh.

Huh.

“Oh come on,” Liam prodded.

Louis half-suppressed a sigh and looked up from his menu reluctantly.

Liam leaned forward with the subtlety of a cat high off its ass on catnip.

“Behind me,” He gestured with a jerking head tilt. “Isn’t that the girl, the one who’s after you? The one who modelled for you?”

He trailed his eyes behind Liam’s oblong head and—fuck, there beside another long-legged girl was the pretty brunette herself, waiting by the hostess stand. His doe-eyed stalker, in the flesh.

Louis let out an internal groan.

This could not be happening.

He slid down several inches in the booth seat out of instinct, his jacket making garish squeaks against the plastic. He wished that he had an invisibility cloak, or some floo powder, or a wand, or any magical contraption that could hide him and or evacuate him from this catastrophe. He was in no state to talk to this girl.

He saw Harry peak around Liam’s head from the side of his eye to catch a glimpse of her as Niall craned around indiscreetly in his seat.

Louis contemplated whether it would be acceptable to hide under the table.

“She’s been following Louis around for months. Poor thing won’t take a hint.”

The last thing he wanted was an audience for his attempt to let this girl down gently if it came to that. Especially not if Harry was to be a member of said audience.

“She’s really fit.” Niall noted.

“If girls are your thing.” Louis muttered, ducking forward and relocating his head to his palms.

“You just need to like, do something really gay.” Liam offered.

_Thanks Liam._

Louis palmed his eyes, as his heart thundered. “How about existing? That should be gay enough.”

Louis was thankful that Harry had not yet taken it upon himself to weigh on this conversation. Though he was probably the master of letting-down-gently and could probably offer some sound advice. Instead, he was sitting silently, twiddling a ring between his thumb and pointer (Louis only knew so because he peaked through the slot between his own fingers).

“No, like wear one of them silly little scarf things around your neck.”

Louis raised his head, leaving his elbows on the table.

“An ascot?” Louis should’ve taken more offense to that than he did. “Absolutely not. But, It’s not fair. I shouldn’t have to be  _perpetually_ coming out to people.” Louis whined. “I hate confrontation.”

“Unless it’s on twitter.” Liam objected.

Louis considered that. He could be quite ruthless on twitter, couldn’t he.

“With that exception, yes.” Louis nodded.

“You have a twitter?” Harry perked up, looking to him curiously. “What do you tweet about?”

Louis retreated again into his shell of self-consciousness with Harry’s reentry into the conversation. He shrank at the thought of the other boy seeing his twitter. His account was mostly rants about football and bad fashion. He did however, find great pleasure in seeing if he could get a rise out of more established users in the fashion world by insulting their entire body of work, which, if they were petty enough and he was abrasive enough could spark a pretty gratifying feud. Anonymity is a wonderous thing.

“I dunno…” It was as if Harry had sucked the words out of Louis’ mouth by deciding to speak. “Rubbish mostly.”

Louis chose that exceptionally inopportune moment to glance back to where the girl had been standing. She had her elbows leaning against the wood of the counter, and was gazing around the room. Her gaze intersected Louis’ fleeting glance.

“Fuck.”

Recognition swept across her little doll face and her porcelain skin remoulded itself into  a wide smile. Soon she was straightening herself and moving in their direction.

Noticing Louis’ panic-stricken state, Niall turned to look over his shoulder. “She see you?”

Louis blurred his eyes over the salt and pepper shakers in silent panic. What had he done to deserve this?

His heart was racing like that of a marathon runner. On second thought, marathon runners probably had excellent—fuck—what was that  _word_? Cardio...cardiomuscular… cardiovascular? Yes, cardiovascular health. They probably had steel hearts that never exceeded 60 beats per minute. Louis bore zero semblance to a marathon runner. More like someone with a life threatening heart condition. Was this what having a heart attack felt like?

“Louis!” She exclaimed, arriving at their table six seconds later.

She bounced a little on her toes.

“I didn’t expect to see you here!”

_Do you often expect to see me places?_

“Hi, Eleanor.” Louis said quietly, doing his best to seem polite but not overly engaging, his pulse still thrumming in his ears. He felt the weight of the other boys’ expectant gaze and their inside knowledge like dumbbells on his shoulders. This poor girl was tragically out of the loop. He felt sick with guilt and general horror.

Her eyes swept around the table and each of the others gave her an obliging nod or wave.

“How are you? It’s been ages.” She went on cheerfully. Her voice sounded miles away.

Louis cleared his throat, to buy himself time. “Good, yeah.” Liam kicked his shin under the table. “ _Y-y_ ou?”

Despite Liam's goading, he was in no way, shape or form, about to put this vulnerable moment to the test by proclaiming his sexuality to her.

“Brilliant, thanks.” She beamed. “How’s your collection coming along?”

_His collection, his collection, his collection._

“Well. It’s...quite…coming along, yeah.”

Louis could've ranked that high on his lifelong list of most pathetic sentences.

Liam coughed into his fist. “Louis doing a men’s collection, this time around.”

He put extra emphasis on  _men’s_.

Louis glared at him across the table. This was not his place to meddle.

Niall smirked.

Eleanor looked to Liam, seeming a bit thrown off by his sudden interjection, and the exchanges at the table.

“Yeah, menswear, is... what I’m into lately.” Louis agreed lamely, biting back a hiss in Liam’s direction.

She gave a distracted nod, her chipperness wavering.

At that precise moment, Harry Styles rose from what seemed the fucking grave and draped his never-ending arm across Louis’ shoulder. Louis felt each nerve ending ignite at every point of contact along its path. His cheeks were suddenly ablaze and he felt oddly partial to the idea of cremation if Harry were the one to be his crematorium technician.

Harry turned his head to Louis with the loveliest ‘v’ of a sketched seagull knitting his brows together. With the seriousness of a neurosurgeon delivering a diagnosis he uttered:

“Love, did you remember to take our butt plug out of the dishwasher?”

Louis froze staring into the deadpan lines of his face, his internal organs ceasing to function.

Liam spewed water back into his glass.

Niall snorted.

Louis wasn’t sure what part to lose his mind over the most. The fact that Harry had touched him, was claiming to share sex toys with him, or was insinuating that they were in a relationship, even if just for show.

He was entranced staring into Harry’s eyes. Their faces hadn’t been this close since... last night. He could feel Harry’s breath ghosting over his lips, that peacefully intent look in his eyes.

Louis was so beyond the point of return.

They were not alone, he reminded himself.

And this....this poor girl.

Too much time was passing. Louis had to do something. He had to fix this.

He tore his eyes from Harry and looked back to her desperately, the all too real weight of Harry’s arm squeezing out what salvageable parts of his brain had remained.

Eleanor saved him the trouble.

“I should—um—get back to my friend they probably have a table for us by now.” She stammered, color had risen to the surface of her flawless skin.

Louis nodded wanting to apologize and put their brunch on his tab...and buy her a gift certificate...and a week's worth of groceries.

“Nice seeing you.” She spluttered. “Have a great...semester.”

She walked away from their table and back to her friend, as quickly as was acceptable.

Liam and Niall allotted her five courtesy seconds before erupting in laughter.

Louis collapsed onto the table face first.

How  _mortifying_.

Louis wished he had the means to pull a Walt Disney right then and there. He imagined himself waltzing (or rather Waltz Disney-ing) out of a freezer a good 20 years from now, fit as a fucking fiddle whilst all his friends had kids and disgustingly pasty beer guts. Hopefully by then everyone would’ve forgotten about this horrific incident and he’d have the whole world at his defrosted fingertips. Harry would still be gorgeous because  _naturally_ he’ll age well, and Louis could just prance right into his life as some distant memory with his comparably youthful body and charm and whisk Harry away from his husband, wife, or historical commune.

He wondered if the restaurant had a walk-in freezer he might try his luck in.

Harry’s arm shifted on his back, returning Louis to the present. His massive hand had moved to cradle the nape of Louis’ neck. Louis sighed, relishing the warm pressure that belonged to Harry—thinking he’d quite like to burn in it all day. His thumb grazed a circle over a notch in his spine, and Louis shivered. A second later the hand was lifting and Louis was cursing its removal. Couldn’t Harry keep touching him? Couldn’t he rub circles on Louis’ back until this all went away? It was largely his fault they were in this mess, couldn’t he at the very least try to make it better?

Louis raised his head a few moments later when he accepted that it wasn’t going to happen.

“That poor girl!” He scolded the boys. “You lot humiliated her!”

He glanced between their faces, Harry’s was the only showing any sign of guilt.

“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled ruefully. “That was too far, wasn’t it?”

Harry’s eyes lifted from their fixture on the table to study him guilt-ridden. Louis could tell that he meant it. Harry’s gaze flickered to Louis’ mouth for a split second. Louis swallowed and waved away Harry’s apology, regretting having perhaps drawn additional attention to that specific part of the whole ordeal.

“Did you hear her?” Liam goaded. “Have a great  _semester_. You should be thanking us, Tommo. Harry especially. Sounds like your problem’s just been solved.”

Louis rolled his eyes.

How could Liam be so fucking oblivious to his anguish right now? Instead of helping a mate out he was fanning the fucking flames.

Louis glowered past him, scanning the room, unable to come up with an adequate comeback.

Where was their waiter? Wasn’t there usually wait staff in this type of establishment?

Louis let out a strangled huff.

“Oh,” he let out with a spark of inspiration “how about we take a turn humiliating someone else for a change?” He was feeling bold all of the sudden. His annoyance seemed to have reinvigorated a previously dormant part of his brain. He didn't even care that he was being totally adolescent in front of Harry. At least not enough to resist.

Louis pulled out his phone from his pocket. “Liam?”

Much to Louis’ frustration Liam appeared unphazed. Instead, he looked pleasantly amused leaning into Niall, the both of them observing the spectacle that was vengeful Louis, exchanging knowing looks.

That left Harry—who was using this lull to make himself more comfortable on the plastic upholstery. The plastic squawked as he took his sweet time reconfiguring himself, eventually setting an elbow on the back of the cushion and crossing one leg over the other. Under the table, his knee came to press into Louis’. Surely, he must’ve of overshot and would withdraw the contact point at any moment. He didn’t. Which left Louis considering two possibilities: Harry had very minimal body awareness (and/or little concept of personal space) or, Harry was expressing a level of comfort with him, maybe even (Louis was really going out on a limb here) affection.

Louis wanted to pat himself on the back for that logic. That was some quality material.

More than a little thrown off-kilter by the pressure against his leg, Louis refocused his volatile attention at the task at hand. Embarrassing Liam. Mature, he knew.

“Last night, our friend Liam here, played dress-up and licked whipped cream off a dildo.” Louis' unresponsive fingers struggled to enter his passcode. “ _And_ I have photographic evidence.”

He glanced up expecting to be met with shock, surprise, or at the very least flushed cheeks on Liam’s part. Not the case.

“Oh yeah! Was mad!” Niall reminisced, clapping Liam on the shoulder. “You’re flatmate here is the talk of half London!”

Liam snickered and through his head back against the cushioning lethargically.

Louis ground his teeth.

“I hate you.” He cursed.

So much for revenge humiliation. Liam was being a fucking twat and he was just going to get away with it. Louis hated injustice, well… mostly when the scales weren't tilted in his favor.

Harry's eyes flitted between them. “Can I see?” He chimed in innocently.

Louis looked over to him. His irritation had temporarily numbed him from the distress the accompanied Harry’s being there.

“Yeah, of course.” Louis mumbled. His tone was far too gentle coming off the tail end of his spite for Liam. Perhaps suspiciously so, he thought cringing.

Louis handed his phone to Harry, resettling venomous eyes on Liam and sinking back in his seat.

"Um...where should I be looking?" Harry interrupted Louis’ scheming of the foul substances he could fill Liam’s drawers with. Thus far filthy spoons were seemingly like the most promising option. His dear flatmate had an irrational phobia of the utensil, one of the many oddities about Liam that Louis frequently capitalized on.

He'd just handed Harry his phone without opening the pictures. Well played.

"Oh sorry," Louis stuttered. "In my messages with Liam."

Harry was silent as he navigated the touch screen.

Louis glanced over to the phone in Harry's hand. The bright surface was a blur from his distance, having (understandably) forgotten to put his contacts in that morning.

Harry's lips quirked up on one side.

"Who's  _'I wanna shag you_ '?" He mused sarcastically.

Louis' mouth fell open.

No.

Harry's amusement turned to the consideration and his brow wrinkled.

"Wait, didn't I—?" He cut himself short.

On few occasions had Louis wanted a TARDIS more than he did in that moment.

At least Harry had the decency to terminate his query when he'd realized the answer. If Louis wasn't too busy cursing his own stupidity he may have even found it considerate. But wait, were Harry’s cheeks suddenly a few shades pinker than they had been just a moment before?

"I—I didn't—I wouldn't—" Louis stuttered. "Liam..."

His eyes shot frantically to his best mate to rescue him from this, to claim rightful responsibility for his actions, and work his beautiful buffer charm that Louis knew so well.

Instead, Liam stared right back at him with a cool and distant smirk. Not a word came out of his mouth in Louis' defence.

Louis narrowed his eyes.

What a fucking traitor. That bastard. He wanted to grab his fork and spear it right through the top of Liam’s hand where he had it crumpled on his placemat.

Wow, violent imagery was new.

Louis was so fucking done with his shit. Done sitting here in this stupid restaurant, done serving as Liam's personal voodoo doll. Done being humiliated in front of the only person whose opinion of him he cared about. Done.

"You know what? Fuck—just fuck you," he spat at Liam raising to stand, wedged awkwardly between the table and the bench. He maneuvered out of the booth with a final huff, scarring only some of his dignity.

"I'll be outside if anyone needs me. You can order me a cheese toasty to go.  _Thanks_."

That last part had not sounded so infantile in his rage-blinded mind. Harry looked up at him in concern. What an impression he was leaving him with.

Oh well.

Liam could go fuck himself. This was all his fault.

He was being such a fucking prick.

What was his problem?

Fuck him.

Louis strode out of the restaurant. He stepped onto the street into the sunshine and scowled.

People were strolling by, chatting casually. Some of them walking dogs. Gross. Why would anyone voluntarily opt to care for a creature that's only skill is pissing, shitting and slobbering all over your things?

With a strangled sigh, he hopped off the curb and came to sit.

That had really not gone well. More like shit.

He rested his elbows on his knees and collapsed his head on his arms. What had he done? He stared blankly at the pebbles scattered across the asphalt. Maybe he should count them. That sounded like a sufficiently mind numbing exercise.

He'd made it to 22 when a pair of long black skinny jeans stretched out beside him.

Louis' stomach fluttered. He waited for the anxiety to set in but it didn’t come. He felt spent, depleted of the energy it required to agonize over what Harry thought of him. Was it possible he’d just exhausted himself to the point of near calm? It probably also helped that he’d reached such depths of embarrassment it seemed impossible to do too much more damage to his ego.

"You okay?" Harry inquired gently.

Louis let out another sigh and felt some of the remaining tension in his shoulders dissipate. Maybe this could be okay.

"Yeah." That was a lie. "Well, no. Fucking pissed at Liam."

"I could tell."

Louis looked over, Harry was smiling. Louis found his own lips cracking into a bit of a smile as well. He had put on quite a show, hadn't he? It was all rather ridiculous. Maybe one day he would even come to laugh at the debacle.

And it was really very sweet that Harry was here with him.

Harry's face tightened with a newfound seriousness.

"I'm sorry about before. I don't know what's wrong with me.” He ran an apprehensive hand through his hair as he spoke. “That was just the first thing that came to mind. I wasn't trying to embarrass you, I swear. I was just trying to help, but clearly I did a really terrible job and only made it worse."

"It's okay. I'm not upset...not with you." Louis reassured with surprisingly little contemplation.

"Oh," he sounded surprised. "Good, I guess."

Silence settled between, neither suffocating nor easy. Louis’ thoughts drifted to the night before. The way Harry had watched him so patiently as he’d allowed Louis’s fingertips to trace the lines in his skin. How Harry had been the one to lean in and finally close the gap between their lips. Maybe it wasn’t so far-fetched to think that Harry might want something like what Louis wanted. He was sitting with him now, wasn’t he? Concerned about his well being, and not seeming the least bit deterred by Louis’ erratic behavior.

An idea occurred to Louis. And maybe it was just because he wanted to see what Harry’s face looked like framed by a backdrop of tiger lilies that he found himself saying:

"Do you wanna go somewhere?"

Harry hadn't seen that coming, the stitch in his brow said so.

"Unless of course you're hungry," Louis backpedaled, scraping the sole of his shoe against the asphalt. "Which would be totally reasonable."

"Not really." Harry responded with a micro shrug.

Louis moved to stand, narrowly avoiding puncturing his palm on forty tiny pebbles.

"Should we tell the others?" Harry said as he came to stand, wiping his palms on his trousers and glancing back to the restaurant.

"No, fuck them."

Harry smirked, dimples aglow. "Niall too?"

"Yeah, fuck him." Louis said raising a hand and waving it vaguely, before setting off across the street, his heart rate only slightly more elevated than usual .

"Yeah, fuck  _Niall_." Harry joined in, as he fell into step beside Louis. "He's so fucking  _nice_." His face twisted in mock disdain.

Who was this boy?

"And jolly and nonjudgmental—what a  _saint_." Louis played along.

"Tell me about it. Someone should incarcerate that boy. He's a danger to society."

Louis almost stopped in his tracks to fully take in the glorious sight of sarcastic Harry. There were few things that Louis found more attractive than a person’s willingness to embrace a healthy amount of bullshit. He savored every breath of Harry’s mockery like a handful of rare white truffles he'd foraged himself, hoping one day he’d get to forage other parts of Harry.

“There’s a… a botanical garden near here. It’s nice.” Louis explained. He would’ve loved to carry on with the banter but the thought of foraging Harry had distracted himself thoroughly enough from the necessary mindset.

He saw Harry nod pleasantly out of the corner of his eye.

“I love botany.”

Of course he couldn’t say ‘flowers’ like a normal person. He had to say  _botany_. Louis swallowed around the fondness that threatened to betray him if he teased him about such a thing out loud.

“Yeah me too.” Louis hopped off the curb to cross the street, Harry in tow. He quite liked the feeling of Harry following him. He wondered how long it would take Harry to piece it together if he instead decided to lead him back to his flat and into his bed. He wondered if Harry would complain. Louis cleared his throat, attempting to discard the thought. “I spent a lot of time going here last year when I was working on a collection of gowns inspired by flowers. Perennials specifically.” He offered in explanation.

“Perennials? That’s not really that specific.” Harry challenged, playfully.

Louis responded with a dutiful eye roll but internally he was reveling in the fact that Harry felt comfortable enough with him to tease him.

“Right well, more like, what perennials stand for. I sort of limited myself to creating designs based on them. I liked the idea that they have longer lives, more classic if you will, whereas so much of fashion is short-lived, because it’s made to be shocking, not made to last. Which gives it the excuse to be shitty, frankly. When I was working on the gowns I tried to think of recurring trends and designs that keep popping up decades later—like—designs that never die. The point being I guess my fascination with them was more poetic than purely aesthetic.” What was he on about? And why would he assume that Harry cared? “Sorry. I’m like, projectile word vomiting at you, aren’t I? I can shut up.”

“I don’t mind.” Harry said calmly. “I like listening to you talk.”

_Oh._

Never had those words been spoken in response to Louis’ blathering.

A second set of eyelashes somewhere deeper in his skull fluttered at the flattery.

He was still quite high, wasn’t he?

He felt an urgent obligation to deliver, perhaps to distract his mind from the inevitable free fall that would ensue over what Harry’s utterance of those words might mean.

“Anyway, that’s why I’ve turned to menswear. There’s less pressure to do something new, and more emphasis on doing something  _well_. Like there’s always this talk of  _innovation, innovation, innovation,_ particularly in women’s _._ Like, you can’t be a good designer unless you  _innovate._  And so many people get so hung up on it and they’re constantly trying to make statement pieces, yet they don’t even know how to make good lines on a piece that’ll be flattering. Good designers pay attention to detail, put a personal twist on a classic, they make things that endure. I’m really fucking over people interpreting innovation to mean taping a trash bag to a model. That’s just dumb.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “That’s silly.”

Louis quite literally bit his tongue. He had a not so minor bone to pick with the word ‘silly.’ This was a digression he could not allow to go unvisited.

“Only silly people think that ‘silly’ is ever a good word choice.”

Louis watched half-amused, half-thoughtful crinkles appear on Harry’s face as he considered that. He wanted to run his fingertips over the ridges of Harry’s forehead but thought better of it.

“Liam uses it. More than once. I’ve heard him.”

Louis almost guffawed at Harry’s attempt to counter him.“Yeah—case in point. Liam is a  _very_ silly human being.”

Harry chuckled, a smile enveloping his features. Louis basked in the sight of those dimples knowing he was the cause.

He suddenly became aware of a warmth that had taken root in his chest that was now replacing whatever trace of his earlier panic remained. His anxiety had been replaced with an edge of excitement. He imagined he could get addicted to this feeling — equal parts content and restless.

They were just outside the nursery that attached itself to the main greenhouse. Louis had learned from his past visits that there were rarely any people in this room. The register was located in the opposite wing of the garden near the entrance and apparently few people saw the appeal in purchasing overpriced potted plants here when you could pick up the same ones for half the cost on a regular trip to Tesco.

Louis held open a slit in in the plastic siding for Harry to pass through. “Go on, we won’t be charged admission this way.”

“What? You’re having me break into a Botanical Garden? Isn’t that unethical? Like, stealing from charity?”

Louis rolled his eyes and shrugged off his objection. “Well,  _technically_ there’s only a suggested donation. But when I used to come here, after about the sixth time I walked right in without giving anything, the man at the counter started giving me these looks. It’s like fuck off! I’m a broke uni student and you don’t even require entrance fees! If anything  _I’m_ the charity case, really. I couldn’t stand his fucking looks though, so I just starting coming in this way. I guess it’s more of a habit now.”

Harry smirked at Louis’ indignant explanation, passing through the opening as instructed.

“I see, so  _you’re_ the charity case. Like feeling victimized much?”

“Who doesn’t?” Louis quipped wryly.

Harry chuckled and turned his face from Louis’ to take in the room before them. The aisles were lined with numerous planters varying in size, color and contents. Some of the flowers were in full bloom and truly striking. None came anywhere close to being as pretty as Harry.

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people with an overactive moral compass.” Louis went on trailing behind Harry. He was far more fascinated by the back of Harry’s head and the occasional glimpse of his eyelashes from the side than any of the flora he was surrounded by.

“My moral compass is quite well calibrated, thank you _._ ” Harry retorted sounding self-satisfied, running his fingertips along the leaves of an orchid.

Louis smirked, marvelling at how easily they’d slipped back into this comfortable banter.  

He stopped in front of a particular tray of flowers allowing Harry to put several paces between them.

“Harold, look… _pansies_.”

Louis wasn't sure yet whether he and Harry were at the stage of knowing each other where it was fair game to poke fun at their shared not-so-hetero sexuality.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and rolled his eyes but Louis didn’t miss the quirk of the right side of his mouth.

Apparently they were.

“Ha ha.” Harry drawled dryly returning his gaze to the tulips he’d been regarding.

Louis ached to make a habit out of this — to wander through London with Harry, teasing him and coaxing reluctant smiles out of him. He was beginning to think Harry wouldn’t be mind doing the same.

Harry wandered into the adjacent room his head craning upward to take in the new height of palm trees. Louis lingered in the doorway that led to the large room, his eyes fixated on him. Harry appeared unusually small, dead center in a tropical oasis that stretched three storeys skyward. He looked very much as if he belonged—hair untamed on his shoulders, the printed leaves of his shirt camouflaging him nicely into the surrounding banana leaves. Louis wished he could give Harry the real tropics—wished he could replace every grey day in London for a cloudless afternoon on a sandy beach somewhere in the southern hemisphere if he could be there with him.

At that moment Harry turned his head slowly to look back at Louis. His face wore a delighted grin, alight with boyish awe. His expression shifted into something more curious, as if asking ‘aren’t you coming?’

And Louis was so incredibly endeared it hurt. The smile he returned to Harry contained no trace of mockery. Who was this angelic, snarky, nerd who’d traipsed into his life? What the actual fuck? Louis wanted answers. Instead, he settled for a nod, motioning for Harry to go on ahead. Louis, on the other hand, had other plans.

After Harry had turned his back to move on, Louis took a few steps backward in exaggerated slow motion, impressed with what he thought was his own discretion. He was feeling a tad mischievous and still a little high. So what if he was planning on channeling his inner 5-year-old by seeing how long it would take Harry to notice his absence?

He gripped the edge of a table cluttered with cacti, and swung himself underneath, settling into his new trench. He sat cross legged on ground, wishing he’d accounted for the dirt  factor before setting his ass down. With his luck that day, he’d emerge with a stained bum, looking like he’d experienced an unfortunate bout of involuntary bowel movement. He unzipped his track jacket, and shifted to place it beneath him. He felt a hard lump as he sat back down.

His first thought was Harry Potter. Was this a Philosopher’s Stone moment? Was he the boy who lived, and some all-knowing mystical force had caused a small hard object that would give him immortality to materialize in his pocket? Or maybe something to win Harry’s heart forever? What would that small hard object be? George Washington’s kidney stones?

Instead what he found upon unzipping his interior pocket was a small glass blown pipe. Louis’ brow arched having no recollection of the last time he’d used said pipe. He nodded faintly to no one in particular, realizing that that made sense. He dug his hand back in the pocket to see if any other treasures lurked there. Sure enough, he procured a tiny ziplock bag filled with a few brittle nuggets of weed and a Cristiano Ronaldo lighter whose plastic finish was peeling at the seam.

“ _Louis?_ ” A voice called from the adjacent room.

Louis let out a self-satisfied hum. Apparently Harry could go all of thirty-five seconds without wondering where Louis had disappeared to.

Louis put his finger to his lips to remind no one but himself to be quiet.

“Louis?” Harry called out again. Judging by the sound of his voice, he’d entered the arid room where Louis had taken cover. Louis heard soft footsteps grow louder in the dirt and covered his mouth to suppress a chuckle.

Through a curtain of drooping cacti limbs, Louis watched Harry’s leather boots come to a halt within spitting distance.

“Lou?” A quieter more tentative voice asked the seemingly empty room.

Louis’ heart contracted at the sound of the nickname rolling softly off Harry’s tongue. He couldn’t bear hiding any longer. He leaned forward, extended his arm out from under the table and seized Harry’s calf. Harry’s leg twitched with surprise, before he bent down to peer under the table. Louis grinned smugly up at him.

“Christ, what are you doing?” Harry muttered in amusement as he came to a crouch.

“Join me.” Lou beamed, giving a light tug where his hand was still gripping Harry’ calf.

“Okay,” Harry shook his head with a smile. “if you say so.” He crouched further and ducked his head under the cacti leaves. He settled on his knees opposite Louis and looked curiously around their small haven under the table. He turned his attention back to Louis.

“So…what exactly are y—” Harry began to say.

“Look what I found.” Louis said, reaching between the V of his legs to hold up the baggie of weed and the glass bowl.

Harry’s face wrinkled in confusion. “You found that here?”

Louis looked to the bag and then back to Harry. “What? Oh, no. Was in my jacket pocket.” Louis immediately regretted not going along with that alternate reality.

Now that he was one step away from waving the bag of weed in front of Harry’s face, it seemed rude not to offer him some. “Um...do you wanna get high?”

A smile spread across Harry’s face.

Louis didn’t honestly expect Harry to take him up on it, but now he was wondering if he ought to wait for some verbal confirmation or...

“Okay.” Harry said after a several beats too long.

This boy was filled to the brim with surprises.

“Really?”

Harry gazed unwaveringly at Louis. “Uh-huh.”

“Okay...” Louis’ eyes zeroed in on Harry’s right dimple.

“But can you pack it for me?” Harry asked softly, a new tentativeness stirring in his voice. “I don’t get high much, someone else’s always done it.”

Louis swallowed. His eyes were frozen studying Harry’s lips. Why was this discussion raising his blood pressure?

He cleared his throat. “Um yeah, I can pack a bowl for you.”

Harry beamed. “Brilliant.”

Louis straightened his back, determined to regain control of his motor functions.

“I’ll have you know I’m not a complete stoner either.” For some reason it felt important to clarify. He didn’t want Harry thinking he was some kind of closet pothead who would mortgage his parent’s home just to follow Phish on tour...or something. He open the baggie and laid it out on his leg. “This weed must be from ages ago, I can’t even remember the last time I wore this jacket, let alone got high.”

“It would be okay if you were.” Harry said with zero indication of concern. “A pothead, I mean. Some of my best friends are. Zayn, for instance.”

“Hmm, Zayn.” Louis nodded as he eyed the pipe and cleaned it out. “I used to fancy Zayn a bit.”

Louis wasn’t sure where that had come from, or why he felt the need to divulge it to Harry. Maybe it was just that this was the first time he’d thought about Zayn in the past few weeks aside from teasing Liam, and previously the mention of Zayn had sent him into an unbecoming swoon mode.

“Who hasn't?” Harry rolled his eyes, a small smile never leaving his lips.

Louis turned his gaze back to the bowl he was not so effectively packing, and then like an electric shock the implication of Harry’s words came crashing down on him.

“You? Really?”

Harry nodded, clearly entertained by Louis’ awe.

That had to be the biggest surprise yet. Evidently, even Gods among men couldn’t resist the aloof charm of Zayn Malik. If Harry didn’t looked quite so content and present, Louis might’ve worried that Harry still harbored feelings for him.

“Yeah until I found out he’s a total slob.”

Louis was silent.  

“You’re a slob too aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.”

Harry laughed.

“But you said used to...about Zayn I mean, when did it, you know, stop?”

_When I met you._

Louis stared blankly at Harry’s face for several seconds too long before returning his eyes to the pipe.

“I guess I sort of forgot about it.”

That wasn’t untrue.

Harry let out a prolonged hum, fiddling with the hem of his Hawaiian shirt.

This boy could switch from cocky to bashful in a matter of nanoseconds. Louis was both impressed and slightly worried about his own ability to keep up.

“And what made you, um, forget about it?”

Louis was dangerously close to letting the words ‘you, you twat,’  slip off his tongue when his better judgement caught up with him. Louis cleared his throat.

“Enough questions, you’re bowl is ready.”

Harry released a suppressed breath from somewhere in the back of his throat and nodded, a small smile resurfacing on his lips.

Louis held the pipe out in offering only to find Harry leaning forward. Naturally, Harry couldn’t be bothered to hold his own pipe. Instead he waited, his lips pursed expectantly.

Louis cleared his throat once again.  _Christ almighty._

He obeyed his silent command, moving to press the pipe to Harry’s lips. He fumbled to spark the lighter, his fingers momentarily forgetting what opposable thumbs were for.

“I’d like to keep both of my eyebrows, thanks.” Harry moved his lips against the mouthpiece, sensing Louis’ struggle despite his closed eyes.

“Ha ha.” Louis retorted dryly. Yet another stellar comeback.

Louis finally succeeded in catching a light and just when he thought that it couldn’t possibly get any worse, Harry’s eyelids fluttered open, his gaze drifting up to meet Louis’ as his cheeks hollowed to inhale the smoke.

_For fuck’s sake._

Louis looked away abruptly, whipping his head to the side. Maybe he could reign in his imagination by depriving it of the obscene source material in front of him.

Apparently, Harry found something funny about that, letting out a soft chuckle that quickly and ungracefully developed into a full bellied cough, requiring him to lean back and cover his mouth with the crook of his elbow.

It was Louis’ turn to laugh.

“Careful, Styles. Wouldn’t want you to lose a lung now.” He said through snickers.

When Harry finally regained control, his eyes were watering slightly.

“Ready for round two?”

Harry took a long drag from the bowl and leaned back blowing the smoke into rings, which dispersed when they made contact with the roof of the table.

 _Roof of the table._ Perhaps Louis was still a bit high.

“Cactus man, that would make a good superhero. Like a human cactus, with spines coming out of his flesh and all…?” Harry drawled, as he ran a finger along the prickless edge of succulent leaf on display at eye level.

“Hmm...better yet, he could be called ‘Prick Man. Yeah—” Louis nodded in agreement with his own idea. “and instead of spines, he could have cocks just popping up out of his skin every six inches or so.”

For a split second, he worried that Harry might not take as much joy in phallifying everything as he did.

“I like it. What would his power be?” Harry responded without a moment’s pause.

“I dunno, he has mass ejaculations? Thwarts the enemy with a river of his cum?”

Harry bowed his head forward in approval.

“And maybe like, the cum could have special powers?”

Louis rolled his eyes in a way that only he thought he could get away with.

“Oh please— _obviously_ the cum has special powers.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Temporary paralysis, maybe. Unleashes his mutant sperm against the assailant?”

Harry nodded thoughtfully, his nods stilling gradually until his head came to a halt and cocked to the side. His face scrunched in an pensive unsatisfied look.

“Actually, I feel like Prick Man is really more of a super villain, you know?” His face relaxed a tad as he went on. “I just can’t really imagine the sight of a man covered in penises not coming off as aggressive in some way, not to mention just generally offensive. Like throughout history penises have been used to symbolize and flaunt power, violently sometimes, and I feel like hunger for power and violence are more the ingredients of a villain, don’t you think? And just as a rule of thumb a prick is not a good person. Like some people just have one dick and it’s enough to turn them into arses, imagine if someone had _forty_?” He paused for a moment probably straining to imagine a visual. “Maybe his cum could be his weapon. Yeah, he’s definitely got lethal cum.” Harry nodded decisively and then grinned. “He’s a  _cum_ -throat killer.”

Louis stared at the boy in front of him. He really,  _really_ wanted to kiss him right then.

“You’re ludicrous.” Louis’ words dripped with endearment.

Harry shrugged happily.

“Maybe, yeah, a bit.” He said, taking no offense.

Before his mind could catch up with his body, Louis was surging forward on his knees and placing a chaste kiss against Harry’s parted lips. Harry’s lips were still against Louis’, Louis realized this and leaned back slightly on his perch, hovering several inches from Harry’s face to gauge the other boy’s reaction.

Harry’s eyes were closed. His mouth widened in a painstakingly slow grin and his eyes blinked open twice, before chuckling. His eyes were warm and already slightly glassy as he leaned forward to press his mouth against Louis’.

Louis fought his own smile as Harry’s lips found his.

This was ridiculous. He was kneeling in dirt, under a table of cacti making out with a boy Louis had only met because he’d ruined a porcelain statue of a dead American president. As his lips moved lazily against Harry’s he found his hand drifting up to run through the curls at the base of Harry’s neck.

“Succulents.”

Harry had broken the kiss to mutter the word.

“What?”

“ _Succ_ ulents, Louis.” Harry repeated urgently.

“What are you on about?” Louis whined.

“ _There’s leaders and there’s followers, but I’d rather be a dick than a swallower._ Etcetera.  _”_ Harry recited, then flapped his wrist frantically in a rushed gesture. “ _Succulents_ , those could be Prick Man’s henchmen.”

Prick Man (as apparently they were now calling him) vaguely resembled a cactus, had cocks all over him, and his followers would be called  _succulents,_ as in literal _cocksuckers_. Harry had just used some kind of Kanye West lyrical inception to explain the labelling of their fictional phallic super villain’s henchmen. Louis had never been more in love with another person’s brain.

“That’s genius. I honestly can’t even mock you for that one.”

Harry’s grin stretched ear to ear, triumphant.

“I finally wowed you with my wordplay.” His smile was far too smug to look as darling as it did.

He couldn’t even be insulted that Harry was thinking about imaginary villains while he had his tongue in his mouth because Louis had had a part in inspiring that sheer brilliance, and well, it involved dicks so...

“I’m wowed...I’m wooed...”

Harry fluttered his eyelashes for dramatic effect, but the weed had slowed his lids down so the action was more reminiscent of blinking.

Harry’s gaze had drifted downward and settled on the space in Louis’ lap between each hip where Harry had come to plant his hands.

His stare was blank.

“You shouldn't be allowed out of the house wearing these.”

Louis wavered, all of his awareness zoning in on the pressure of Harry’s thumbs pressing softly into his v-line. He felt a surge of blood rush south. He had to be careful— there was very little margin for error in these joggers.

“You shouldn't be allowed out of the house wearing  _that_.” Louis shot back to divert the attention from his lap. He raised his eyebrows for emphasis without removing his eyes from Harry. That was definitely not his proudest comeback.

“What, my face?” Harry’s dimples dug holes to China. “I shouldn’t be allowed out of the house wearing my _face?_ ”

Louis nodded with only a moment’s pause. “That’s right. It’s indecent. We’re in the presence of children, Harry.” Louis leaned back with an expression of mock distaste. “For God’s sakes— _children_.”

Harry frowned skeptically and peeked under table at what he could see of the Greenhouse.

“I don’t see any chil—”

“Gentlemen,” A deep, not too pleased voice interjected.

The sound of a clearing throat could be heard just beside the table.

Harry and Louis both peaked their heads out from under the table.

A pair of grey eyes belonging to an stout older man glared down at them. The man hovered with both hands planted on his green jumpsuit.

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

The two boys sat for a moment just staring up at him before they sprung into action as slowly as it is humanly possible to ‘spring’ into action.

Louis was the first to crouch his way out from under the table and stand upright. He saluted the man, only half mockingly, before turning to offer Harry a hand. Harry was having a little more trouble, what with his mile long limbs and all. He whacked his head audibly on the edge of the table.

“Ahhh.” He exhaled in pain moving a hand to his head as he came to stand.

“Deepest apologies sir. We’ll just be on our way.” Louis apologized as Harry brushed his arse off with one hand and continued rubbing his sore head with the other.

Louis’ flippant comment was met with a glare from the worker. Louis pulled on Harry’s hand, beginning to drag him toward the exit as the other boy massaged his head, tripping over his own feet as he was pulled along.

Once outside Louis burst into laughter.

“Harold,” Louis managed between breaths. “We just lit a bowl in a public greenhouse.”

Harry giggled, his attention clearly diverted from the throbbing spot on his head.

“My heart, it’s beating so fast.” Harry panted “Oh no, I think I might be high.”

Louis ducked his head forward laughing, he finally seemed to be regaining his senses a bit and here Harry was only just beginning. In his bow forward, he caught a glimpse of their entwined hands.

He’d almost forgotten that Harry’s hand was still perfectly slotted in his. Maybe Harry had forgotten too. Louis chose not to draw attention to it, hoping it could stay that way.

Once Harry’s final laugh petered out, he hummed once.

“I’m feeling a bit peckish.”

Louis smirked. His not so minor fit had cost them their meal.

“I think there’s a corner shop not far from here.”

Harry released Louis’ hand to pat his pockets. Louis hoped the pang of disappointment he felt didn’t show in his face. Fortunately Harry was preoccupied patting his back pocket, then both front pockets, and then his other back pocket.

“Hmmm, ohhh.. yep.” Harry muttered in realization. “I’ve left my wallet at the restaurant.”

Louis let out a dramatic sigh, shooting his eyes to the sky in mock annoyance.

“I mean, I  _guess_ I can spot you a few quid.”

Harry surged forward and peppered a kiss on Louis cheek, causing Louis to blush an embarrassing new shade of pink, especially seeing as they’d just frenched under a table.

“Thanks, sweet cheeks,”

At the entrance to the shop, Louis held the door open for Harry to pass in front of him.

“After you, baby cakes.”

Louis stepped in and let go of the door. Instantly, his eyes zeroed in on a packet of Quavers, and what was that next to them, Monster Munch? Yep, he’d need that too. Harry must have had a similar snack laser-vision experience upon entering as he had vanished.

Louis’ mind wandered to the bleak refrigerator awaiting him at home. He looked down the aisle to a freezer. After wandering the frozen section and amassing a small mountain of snacks and frozen pizzas, he thought he’d check in on Harry. He found him standing in an aisle empty-handed, staring at the ceiling. Yup, the boy was definitely high. Louis approached slowly, wary of spooking him.

“Harry,”

No response.

“Love,”

Still nothing. Louis took a few steps closer.

“Babe, Haz, Hazza, baby—”

Harry moved his hands slowly to cover his ears.

“You’re really loud. Can you speak more quietly, please?” He mumbled as he continued to gape.

That was the most polite way he’d ever been told to shut up, and coming from Harry, also exceptionally adorable. Louis made a conscious effort to lower his voice. “Ok...but you’re staring at a ceiling fan.”

“There’s this one blade that has this mark—” He stopped mid sentence and turned his attention to Louis, the corner of his lips quirking. “Did you just call me ‘baby’?”

“About half an hour ago. the window of opportunity for teasing me about it has come and gone."

“Louis, do I look like an infant to you?”

Louis guffawed. “What did I just say?” He let out in false exasperation, fixing his hair. “And, yes actually. You're acting like a proper child right now. And presently, I seem to be the sugar daddy in this scenario. So...if you want me to buy you things, don’t? mock me.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

That went straight to Louis’ dick. He’d walked right into that one, hadn’t he.

They approached the counter.

“Can I get Wine Gums, Daddy?”

The cheeky bastard knew how this would taunt him.

“Stop calling me—Wine Gums? Gross. No one likes Wine Gums.”

“I like Wine Gums.” Harry retorted.

“Well, you shouldn’t.”

Louis dropped his armful of junk food in a pile on the counter before an unimpressed cashier.

“Hey now, don’t yuck my yum.” Harry retaliated as he tossed the packet onto the counter along with a Cadbury bar.

“I will yuck your yum if I want to.”

“But will you lick my yum?” Harry grimaced at his own words as soon as they were out of his mouth.

“The was particularly bad, even for you.” Louis said as he fished his wallet from his pocket. As if anything Harry could say could ever truly be  _bad_. The boy could make knock knock jokes sound like symphonies.

“Seventeen twenty-five.”

Both of their attention turned to the cashier, a graying man with a Manchester United tee. Louis handed over a few notes and the exact pence as Harry loaded their selections into a plastic bag.

“Cheers.” Louis offered, as he picked the bag up and headed for the door, Harry in tow.

They walked back into the sunshine.

 

Louis was still feeling hazy but the gibberish his mind had been concocting had slowed to a drip by the time Corden’s came into view. Between munching his Monster Munch and listening to Harry list his favorite snack foods (which very quickly dissolved into a meandering rant about popcorn and its roots in the Iroquois nation) Louis had lost count of the blocks.

“Lads!” Liam called out. Beside him, Niall looked up from his phone.

Harry and Louis slowed to a stop in front of Cordon’s. If he’d realized just how soon they’d be arriving back at the restaurant, he would’ve done an extra few loops around the block. He was fairly certain that Harry wouldn’t have noticed, what with all the talk of corn kernels and colonialism—that, and how high he appeared to be.

“Where the bloody hell did you two go?” Niall chided warmly.

Louis began to feel a sinking sensation in the bottom of his stomach. He wasn’t ready to emerge from his bubble with Harry.

“A garden, we went to a lovely garden.” Harry responded languidly. “And then a shop.”

Niall furrowed his brow put didn’t press Harry on his exaggerated drawl.

Liam didn’t waste a minute before invading Louis’ space, “Oh, nice.” He began to rifle around the plastic bag. “What’d you get Tommo?”

“Not for you.” Louis, every bit as petty as when he’d left him, swiveling the bag out of his grasp.

Niall handed Harry is canvas bag which he received with a prolonged ‘ahh’.

“We still going to the farmer’s market or what? You promised me homemade puttanesca.”

“I did do that, didn’t I.” Harry muttered thoughtfully.

Niall was studying Harry, trying to figure out the sudden change in his roommate. He eyed Louis skeptically as if seeking an explanation. Louis’ first inclination was to respond,  _I just have this effect on people, it’s wild, I know_. But presently he wasn’t in the mood for joking.

“Found some weed, he may or may not have smoked a bowl.”

Niall laughed, his eyebrows raising impossibly high. “Damn, Tomlinson! Aren’t you just full of surprises today!” He followed his outburst with a shrug. “As long as it doesn’t come in between me and my dinner.”

“Oh fuck, what time is it? There’s a West Brom game I wanted to get back for.”

“2:40.” Niall said illuminating his phone.

“Shit it starts soon. We gotta go Louis.”

The sinkhole in Louis’ chest expanded and swallowed up even more of him.

He didn’t like this one bit. He could feel the forces of the afternoon pulling them apart. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry shift on his feet cast his eyes downward. Could he be feeling this reluctance to separate too?

Louis didn’t know what to say or how to casually invite himself to tag along wherever Harry was going. Eventually, feeling the impossibility of the situation he landed on:

“I should probably get these pizzas in the freezer.”

Harry, looked up to meet his gaze. And fuck Louis couldn’t take disappointing him again.

Niall began to back away in the direction they were headed in.

“We’ll see you lads soon, yeah?”

Harry was not making any sign of moving anytime soon.

“Definitely, board games was wicked except maybe like, Connect Four next time.” Liam agreed, coming to stand beside Louis.

Louis barely heard Liam’s words or Niall’s laugh in response.

It felt wrong,  _really_ wrong, like maybe even sinful, to end such a wonderful afternoon with Harry without touching him.

Harry solved the problem for him by placing a gentle hand on Louis’ elbow that was both perfect and frustratingly inadequate. With a soft smile and a slightly dazed “bye, Louis,” he took a few backwards steps facing Louis, before turning to follow Niall.

Louis felt as if an elevator door were closing between them.

“Bye,” Louis managed with a lame wave after Harry’d already turned his back.

Louis stared at the back of Harry’s Hawaiian shirt before he and Niall rounded the corner. The plastic handle of the snack bag had begun to dig into his palm.

Liam shifted onto the balls of his feet, silently following Louis’ gaze to the direction where Harry and Niall had disappeared. He looked back to Louis.

“Oh man, you’re so gone for him. Also West Brom is on and I really have to wee.”

 

After brushing his teeth that night, Louis returned to his room to find his phone screen illuminated. As he got closer he could make out what was displayed on the lock screen

_2 texts from IWANNA SHAGU._

A surge of giddiness ran through him. Oh god, he should really changed Harry’s contact name sooner rather than later.

Oh,  _god._ What if he was writing to let him down gently? Or tell him off for what a fucking amateur kisser he was. Or perhaps, propose very public sex on the side of a freeway. Louis really didn’t know.

He dithered idly by his bed, waiting for his heart rate to return to a normal rate in his ears. Who was he kidding? He opened his Messages app, and clicked on the top spot.

_I’m either concussed or still somewhat high._

Louis blinked twice and scrolled down to the second message.

_Currently eating the Wine Gums... I’ll have you know they’re delightful as ever._

Louis could see it, Harry propped up on a pillow, or maybe resting his head on the arm of his and Niall’s couch, popping the little candies into his mouth, wearing some ridiculous sweater. It was absurd how much he wanted to be there with him. He followed the thread to the next message.

_In other news, I think I fed Niall bird feed._

He smiled—disproportionately so—in response to such a nonchalant comment.

_But more importantly, do you have plans tomorrow evening? if the answer is no, don’t make any ;0_

Louis wasn’t sure what open mouth winky face meant, but it was his favorite part.

 

~~~~

 

The half-descended sun danced over the ridges of the water surface reflecting webs of light onto the underbellies of every bridge Louis passed. It was pleasantly mild out that evening, When he’d entered the address Harry had sent him into his phone and seen that it lay along the bank of the Thames he had more than a pretty confident hunch about where Harry was taking him.

Louis arrived at H.M.S Victory in good time.

He stood portside taking in the sight of it.

This ship was really fucking ridiculous. It must’ve been near the length of a football pitch and towered high above the water level, dwarfing the touristy tour boats moored on either side. There were three tiers of windows, alternating stripes of black and gold, along with miles upon miles it seemed of ropes and lines extending in every which direction.

Just as Louis was calculating an estimate for the numbers of years, droplets of sweat, and deaths that had transpired for this boat to come to fruition, Harry appeared leaning over the side of the top deck. He looked like a toddler, both in relative size to the monster ship, and in demeanor. A toddler who was jittery to show off his favorite Lego creation.

Louis was so endeared by this boy. Seeing him in his preferred element only heightened how fond he was. Louis waved and smiled, before moving to cross the outstretched slanted wooden board that formed a bridge. He crossed it in a few long strides and when he reached its end where the path turned to ladder, he felt Harry’s fingers seize around his forearm to help him over the top rungs. It was wholly unnecessary, but Louis reveled in the touch.

“Hi.” Harry said as Louis came to stand, wiping his palm on his trousers.

Louis looked up at him. He was smiling warmly, his hands hanging idly at his sides. His hair was loose, waves decorating his shoulders, as he wore a short sleeve button up with the outline of cats on it. It was barely buttoned and tailored perfectly. Louis sensed this would make for inspiration for his next piece in his collection.

“Hi.” Louis returned, his own smile growing. His cheeks warmed with what he had come to define as adoration for the man before him.

Harry grinned at that. He clasped his hands behind his back and balanced on the heels of his boots. “Shall I give you the tour?”

“Lead on.”

Harry beamed, nodded dutifully and turned to do just that.

“I didn’t know you were allowed to do this.” Louis commented, thoughtful. “After hour tours, and such.”

Harry turned from his quasi skip to walk backwards in front of Louis. “I’m not technically.” He answered, nearly avoiding tripping over a pile of rope. “I have to turn in my keys to the decks below tomorrow.  Thought I’d make the most of it.”

Louis was elated to be included in Harry’s most-making plans.

Harry administered the rest of the tour, gracefully for the most part, only running into a wooden post once. At one point when Harry had been rambling on about the lemonade Lord Nelson was served on his deathbed Louis had to reach out and grab ahold of his shirt to save him from the fate of a flight of stairs. Louis hadn’t thought it was possible for a person to babble so languidly, but babble Harry did. Louis fluctuated in and out of paying attention to his words (some of which were actually quite interesting), mostly favoring to stare at his mouth or the back of his head or whatever part of him was on best display.

Harry concluded their winding tour back on the top deck, at which point Louis had himself thoroughly turned around and in need of a new internal compass, or... Harry, to always stick by his side and tell him which way was north. Harry wove around the edge of the deck, to a new area Louis hadn’t seen on their first go round.

Louis stopped in his tracks.

There were paper lanterns strewn across the low wall that separated them from the bridge of the ship. A patterned blanket was thrown over the elevated platform and littered with an assortment of antipasti. A bottle of wine and two glasses made up the center piece.

Louis practically melted into a pile of fabric and bones on the wooden deck, because this was a  _date_. A date, curated by Harry himself...and it was really fucking romantic.

He turned to study Harry, who was now staring almost as rigidly as he was at the spectacle. Color was rising to the surface of his cheeks.

“This is...really lovely.” Louis choked.

Harry scratched his head. “I, um,” He began, clearing his throat. “You know, wanted to do something nice for you?”

Louis’ stomach plummeted in an uncomfortable but addictive kind of way.

“What with, your being so generous with the jacket. Which I won’t even get the chance to wear, here at least. I’m sorry about that.” He grimaced and Louis shrugged away his apology. “And then the other night you were so nice to me…and then yesterday you bought me snacks...and...um...yeah.”

Louis had a feeling other words were meant to fill the places of ‘and’, ‘um’ and ‘yeah’.

Louis took a seat on the edge of the picnic platform to spare Harry from any further apprehension. Louis was more than okay with this, he didn’t want Harry to feel an ounce of self-consciousness.

Harry took a few tentative steps forward and came to sit on the edge as well, the food between them.

“I didn’t know what you like, so I just got a bit of everything.”

Louis’ chest swelled. He had never imagined that being so taken by someone would be so incredibly taxing on his body.

“Going for a taste of each continent, is that it?” Louis quipped, surveying the selection. Harry had not been kidding about the variety.  There was hummus along with pita, samosas, goat cheese for baguette, and was that sushi? Louis imagined Harry as Red Riding Hood, skipping through every ethnic neighborhood of London, swinging a basket full of groceries.

“Conquering the globe, one delicacy at a time.” Harry returned, smiling. His eyes flitted to Louis’ lips before lowering to the picnic cloth between them and then to the wine.

He offered the already opened bottle out to Louis, who held out his glass obligingly. Naturally he’d thought to  _air_ out the wine. Louis never remembered, but then again, all of his wine was such shit that he probably wouldn’t have noticed a difference.

“Did Liam tell you about the other night?” Harry tried his hand at small talk. He smirked, as his gaze remained concentrated on his pouring.

“What specifically about? I couldn’t get many complete sentences out of him yesterday.”

Harry grinned, twisting the neck of the bottle and moving on to fill his own glass.

“About him and Zayn.”

Louis’ eyes almost bulged out of his head and splattered all over Harry.

“ _No._ ” Louis’s jaw dropped, incredulous.

Harry laughed, and put up his hands. "Don’t get too excited they didn’t, like, elope or do anything major. Niall only thought to mention it me yesterday evening, the wanker.”

Louis liked that Harry put ‘elope’ or ‘do anything major’ in the same sentence, as if eloping alone weren’t enough to illustrate some major development. Louis also desperately wanted to know what Harry’s definition of major was. For Liam, who was as closeted as a moth ball, he supposed anything of the same-sex nature beyond a handshake would be major.

Louis waited eagerly for him to go on, wasting no effort to hide his intrigue.

“Apparently, they were dancing all over each other. Niall watched the whole thing. Said it was pretty hot.” Harry raised his brow.

“Liam probably doesn’t even remember. But this is great news for me. I’ve been betting on Ziam since the get go.”

Harry elevated his brow impossibly higher, and looked mildly insulted, mostly in good fun. “What, it’s okay for  _you_ to combine names for pairings, but not for me?”

He was referring to  _Larry_ , the way he’d mushed their names together in Risk. Louis smiled because Harry remembered. Louis smiled because Harry hadn’t used the word ‘teams’ but _‘pairings’_ instead. It was probably a slip-up, but one that he felt confident contained answers to the moon, the stars and the galaxy.

“That was more for show. I never really minded it.” Louis answered honestly.

Why did it feel like he was admitting to something far more significant?

“Huh.” Harry hummed thoughtfully after several seconds of lingering eye contact, and in poured the silence. He stared down at his boot, the toe of it playing with an exposed nail in the wooden deck. He was biting his lip.

Louis could have sliced through the air between them with a bread knife. Why did this whole situation feel so tense and delicate? Louis wanted their easy banter back, he wanted the innuendos, the dimples in Harry’s cheeks and that fucking giggle of his back. But mostly he just wanted to kiss Harry. He really, really wanted that part.

Because he really,  _really_ liked Harry. So much so that 'really' had become a nuisance in his inadequate vocabulary, which he'd adopted to describe his heightened emotions in the face of all Harry was. He was certain at this point that Harry felt something for him too. He wasn’t sure that he felt the same compulsion to move mountains or take up cat themed embroidery in the other’s honor, but Louis could tell he was fond of him. He could tell by the way he found his humor much funnier than it actually was, the way he’d looked at Louis the other night so serenely, the way he followed him out of the restaurant and blindly agreed to follow him on an adventure. And by the fact alone that Harry was making picnics and stringing paper lanterns for him.  

Louis had had enough of this distress and was just about to about to open his mouth and give it permission to do that dangerous thing where it spoke without him processing what was coming out of it when Harry released a strangled sigh.

“Fuck it.” Harry exhaled. “It must be obvious by now. I fancy you.”

Louis’s breath stilled, as did his heart. Before he had time to stumble over his words in response Harry went on.

“And not just because you’re really fit, and I like the way you kiss or ‘cause you do nice things for me.”

Harry’s gaze was fixed unwaveringly on Louis’ mouth. Louis wet his lips, unthinkingly. Harry swallowed and glanced back to his eyes.

“But because you’re really fucking sweet, and I like your sarcasm, and you talk to me like a human being. You don’t write me off because of my interests and you don’t like put me on a pedestal for being quirky or whatever. I like spending time with you, and I want to spend more with you, like a lot of it. And I want to be able to kiss you without thinking I’m going to overstep whatever this thin line is we’ve been treading.”

His words sounded like Shakespeare to Louis’ ears.

He was roused from his pondering by the sight of Harry’s green eyes studying him with that tantalizingly serious and vulnerable look of his. In a trance, Louis breached the no-man’s territory of the sea of snacks between them, knocking over a packet of crisps in the process. He came to sit beside Harry and pressed a knee into Harry’s leg.

Louis memorized the expression playing on his face, his eyes glimmering, his red lips parted, waiting. Louis wasn’t coherent enough to respond to his declaration in half as clumsily articulate a way. So he didn’t. Instead, he rested one hand on Harry’s leg, and brought the other up to cup his cheek.

Harry’s eyelids fluttered closed under the touch of Louis’ hand. Louis ran his thumb along Harry’s cheekbone living for the quiet hum it elicited.

“I fancy you too, for the record.”

Harry blinked his eyes open, the affection in them unmistakable. Louis bathed in it.

“Do  _I_ get a speech too?” Harry pouted frivolously. Quickly his pursed lips faded into a goofy grin.

And Louis was  _so_ gone for him.

“I really want to kiss you now. Can we make it an I owe you?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Men these da—”

In one swift movement Louis lifted his head to catch Harry’s lips with his own. Harry smiled against Louis mouth, surrendering to him.

Louis’ whole body tingled with the need to keep touching Harry, to mutter flattery in his ears and leave trails of kisses across his jawline.

Harry increased the pace of the kiss, his hand low on Louis back and pulled him in. Louis teased his tongue inside Harry’s mouth, earning him a stifled moan. Harry was easing onto his back slowly, both Louis’s hands grasping his face as it lowered...and this wasn’t totally decent for the sights of the passing tourist boat tour but Louis couldn’t be bothered enough to care.

He struggled to find a place to rest his knee so he could hover, without detaching his mouth from the heavenly contact of Harry’s pillow-soft lips. Why did there have to be so many metal apparatuses on this ship? Louis was starting to curse the multitude of snacks as well, that weren’t making this any easier for him.

“Fuck, _ow_.” Louis broke off, reaching out in pain to grip his knee which had sunk down on a metal rung. Harry kissed the side of his face.

“What is this—a fucking scrap metal junkyard? I just want to snog you properly, without impaling myself on a metal fucking rung.”  Louis whined, just short of pitching a fit.

Harry grinned, no indication of sympathy. “What if it was  _my_ rung?”

A metal rung was a bit of a stretch as far as phallic imagery went, but had successfully distracted Louis from his pain.

He smirked, a new glow flushing his cheeks. “I uh, actually, prefer to be the one doing the impaling.”

He grimaced at his own words.  _Impaling_ sounded so gruesome.

Harry let out a content ‘hmm’. “Convenient, because I actually prefer to be the impal _ee_.”

He had not just uttered _impalee_. Under any other circumstances Louis would’ve cringed and told him off for it, but Harry had just revealed a very important bit of new information to him and he was silently rejoicing in it.

“Do you want to go?” Harry said abruptly, his finger tracing circles on Louis’s arm.

Louis’ heart sped suspecting where this might lead.

“What? We haven’t even touched all the food you bought.”

Pure courtesy.

Harry glanced with disinterest at the valley of untouched appetizers.

“That’s okay, we can finish it later.” His eyes returned to Louis.

Louis nodded with enthusiasm, swallowing a little too forcefully. He gave Harry room to sit up and together they began repackaging the food.

Harry allowed his gaze to remain on Louis for several seconds before he let out a shaky breath and frantically went to zip the backpack, stuffing the final items inside. He moved to stand and Louis followed in suit, amused by Harry’s skittish excitement.

When Louis was standing in front of him, he gently took his hand. He leaned forward and pressed a feather light kiss to Louis’ temple. A serious sign of restraint considering his eagerness. He slotted their fingers together like puzzle pieces.

“Alright, let’s get you out of here before I  _canon_ ’t resist you any longer.”

 

Harry’s lips were on Louis’ as soon as the door to the flat had clicked shut.

Within the span of a mere second Louis was returning the kiss with equal fervor, tripping over his feet as Harry pulled him forward into the flat using his grip on either side of his face.

Louis would’ve mocked Harry for his eagerness if he wasn’t feeling just as desperate. Plus, it was hot. As in, so hot Louis was currently sporting a semi.

He grinned momentarily against the other boy’s mouth and felt Harry’s lips tighten with a similar sentiment.

“Oi.” A voice huffed and Louis flinched in surprise, breaking his contact with Harry’s lips to find the source of the sound.

“Some warning would’ve been nice.” Niall grumbled from the couch, shutting the textbook in his lap. Niall and a book. Louis would’ve snapped a picture it sent it to Liam if Harry’s hadn’t just latched his mouth onto his neck, refusing to acknowledge his roommate’s existence. Louis offered his best apologetic face though it was probably obvious his heart wasn’t in it when Harry choose to lick into a particularly sensitive part of skin behind his ear and Louis made no effort to resist the crude drop of his jaw.

“Ok,” Niall stood abruptly and began tossing materials into his backpack. “Vacating the premises.”

Louis was vaguely aware of the noise of rustling and feet padding around them, but was too busy being thoroughly consumed by Harry—both literally and figuratively— to care.

“ _Shoes._ ” Harry urged between breaths.

Impatient enough to blow off Niall, but not enough to degrade the cleanliness of his carpet. What a man.

Harry bent his leg and reached for the heel of his boot behind him, all the while nipping at Louis’ bottom lip. He hopped lightly to keep his balance. Apparently he was convinced that shoe removal wasn’t something that required their mouths separating. He stumbled some more, taking a handful of Louis’ shirt in his fist as he reached down to pull the second boot off and craning his head to keep Louis’ lips enveloped in his. Louis attempted to wedge off one shoe using the heel of the other but Harry’s face-cohesion method wasn’t working out so well for him. Losing his stability he lurched forward into Harry’s chest, who didn’t seem to mind in the least. Regretfully, he turned his head, breaking the kiss and reached down.

“Hold on—”

Harry kissed his temple and held out a supportive arm for him to grip. Louis took a hold of it gratefully. After having liberated both feet from his Vans, he raised his eyes to meet Harry’s gaze. Harry was biting his lip and studying Louis as if he were either something edible or something sacred. Louis couldn’t decide which he’d prefer to be.

Niall snatched his keys off the counter.

“Right, be safe... have fun... so on so forth. It’s taken you two bloody long enough.”

Harry didn’t take his eyes off Louis as his expression softened, and sacred it definitely was.

Niall swung the door to the flat shut.  

This was happening. They had the flat to themselves and Harry was looking at Louis like the second coming of Jesus.

Louis had never felt luckier than he did in that moment.

Harry threaded his hand with Louis’ and led him the last few steps into his bedroom, before clicking to shut the door behind them and turning to face him.

Silence set in and Louis was suddenly overwhelmed, all of his senses blurred together into one greater sensation that was  _Harry._ Standing across from the most heartbreakingly beautiful boy he’d ever laid eyes on, his chest felt as if it were expanding and contracting all at once. Despite being a mere 1,8 metres high, the room was somehow filled with Harry. Now that they were alone and nothing and no one could possibly interrupt them, Louis suddenly felt as if they had all the time in the world. And he wanted to do this right, wanted to take Harry apart slowly and savour every moment until he had him begging for more.

He crossed the distance to Harry tentatively, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. Harry released an unsteady breath against his lips. Harry melted into a second kiss, clutching Louis’ hips to anchor himself. Their weight swayed, gently competing for control of the kiss. Louis’ hands came to rest on Harry’s chest, fumbling without much urgency at the top of his shirt. His ridiculous cat shirt. Harry moved to kiss a path down Louis’ neck. Surely he could feel Louis’ pulse beneath his lips. The thought made Louis shiver. This was finally happening.

Louis tried to remain focused at the task at hand—getting Harry out of his shirt. He made some progress, not without some hitches. Harry was a quick learner and had taken to exploiting the soft spot behind  Louis’ ear that made him weak in the knees.

With each additional button undone, more of Harry’s tattoos were on display. Louis wanted to trace them like he did the other night, but this time preferably with his tongue. After undoing the last button, he moved his palms over Harry’s bare chest and over his shoulders, causing the shirt to fall to the floor.

Their lips reunited, and this time Louis could sense Harry’s growing desperation in his exploring tongue and quickening exhales. He slotted his leg between Harry’s. Harry rolled his hips forward and Louis could feel Harry’s cock already hard through his jeans.  _Fuck_. Louis gasped involuntary. He was aching to get his mouth on him.

Harry gripped impatiently at the bottom hem of Louis’ t-shirt. Louis took a minute step backward, allowing Harry to pull the fabric over Louis’ head. For a brief moment the opening of the shirt caught on Louis’ head and he tripped backwards blindly, nearly falling.

When his head finally emerged he was met with the sight of Harry chuckling with a smile. His smile quickly eroded as he shamelessly raked his eyes over Louis’s body.

“Fuck, you’re so fit.”

The flattery seemed almost ludicrous coming from the man in front of him who was quite literally carved from marble.

“Likewise, Styles.”

Harry smirked and pressed their chests together. He returned his lips to Louis’ throat. This boy was going to be the death of him.

“Wanna blow you.” Harry mumbled against Louis’ jugular.

Louis let out an involuntary whine. What were words? Louis’ brain had been reduced to symbols and punctuation.

Harry was already making his way down Harry’s chest. For a fraction of a second Louis felt a flash of disappointment, wanting to blow Harry first. But then Harry was planting kisses on Louis’ sternum...his ribs…his navel..and well...

“Yeah...okay.”

Harry dropped to his knees, his fingers making quick work of Louis’ buckle.

Louis had lost all control of his motor functions, unable to do anything but watch the scene unfold in front of him. He combed his fingers once through Harry’s hair, in hopes of communicating his affection. Harry hummed and Louis melted.

Harry placed a single kiss on Louis’ clothed cock, before pulling down the elastic band of his pants. Louis’ stepped out of his jeans and pants, gripping Harry’s shoulder for balance.

Harry wrapped his fingers around the length of Louis’ cock.

Louis inhaled sharply at the contact.

Harry smirked and proceeded to lick a broad stripe along the underside of it.

“ _Christ_.” Louis breathed in response.

Harry leaned back ever-so slightly, hand still wrapped around Louis’ base and tilted his head as if appraising his dick.

“I think we’re going to be good friends, him and I.”

Louis swatted lightly at the back of Harry’s head, rolling his eyes. Who was this dork?

Harry chuckled, before taking him in his mouth without further warning and swallowing his full length.

Wow.

Not only was he gorgeous and delightfully baffling, this boy was  _talented_.

Harry picked up his pace, beginning to move in earnest. Louis raked his fingers across Harry’s scalp and Harry hummed, sending reverberations through Louis.

Of the embarrassing amount of times that Louis had imagined this scenario in his month of knowing Harry, none of his fantasies had prepared him for the sight of real, live, actual Harry with hollowed cheeks looking up at him.

Louis was mesmerized, watching Harry take him confidently, his eye lashes leaving shadows across his cheeks.

Much too quickly, he felt the familiar feeling building in the bottom of his stomach.

“Fuck, Harry, I’m close.”

Harry pulled off with a mildly obscene popping noise, his hand still wrapped tight around Louis’ base.

“Not like this. I want you to fuck me.”

Louis fish-mouthed. It was quite possible his brain had just short-circuited.

“Um, yeah.” He swallowed hard, after what might have been a century. “I can do that.”

Harry was already moving to stand and crossing to his bedside table.

“I’m counting on it.” Harry said cheekily over his shoulder as he opened a drawer.

Louis was retortless. The part of Louis’ brain that dealt in quips was on a hiatus that was quickly turning into an indefinite vacation.

Harry tossed a bottle of lube and a condom on the covers and sat down on the edge of the bed, unbuttoning his jeans.

It took Louis a moment, before he sprang into action, brushing Harry’s hands away from his fly and replacing them with his own.

“My turn,” he said. Louis peeled Harry’s jeans down his legs as he shimmied out of them from atop the bed. Harry was tenting his black boxer briefs as he leaned back on his elbows, looking up Louis. After all of the things he’d wanted to do with and to Harry in the last month, he finally had the boy below him, waiting expectantly.

Louis leaned forward and joined their lips in a wet kiss, gripping the band of Harry’s pants and bringing them to his knees. Harry shimmied out of them too, kicking them off the end of the bed. His cock sprung free in the process and when Louis caught sight of it he was instantly in love. Objectively, it was a very nice cock, but more importantly it was Harry’s and Louis was anything but objective when it came to all things  _Harry_.

Louis gave a final kiss to Harry's neck before lowering himself to his knees at the foot of the bed.

He knew that he'd been given a mission but he was also highly distractible. In that moment he couldn't imagine anything more important than getting his mouth on Harry.

He placed a delicate kiss on each of Harry's hip bones just below the laurels inked in his skin, instantaneously reconsidering his previous ambivalence towards them. He was now decidedly pro-laurel. 

He circled the head of Harry's cock with his tongue, to which Harry responded with a low prolonged hum. Louis continued, planting several more kisses up and down his length. Finding Harry's eyes and securing his gaze, Louis took him down.

Harry watched him from his perch on his elbows, looking halfway to wrecked already though he'd barely been touched. 

Louis took him down all the way to the base making Harry's abs tense suddenly of their own accord. Louis waited a moment allowing his throat to adjust before pulling off completely. He licked up and down Harry's shaft giving himself a minute to recover. He took him in his mouth again, wrapping his hand around what his mouth didn't cover. Between Harry's moans and the smallest of thrusts he was failing to fight back, Louis could tell the other boy was growing impatient.

"Louis," He stuttered urgently between breaths."I need more—more than your mouth right now."

Louis couldn't contain his smirk, not that he was really trying. He hadn't expected Harry to be quite this worked up, it only made it hotter.

"Desperate much, Styles?" Louis teased, holding Harry's cock in his hand.

Harry let out an exasperated puff of air and shot him a glare.

"I've only been waiting for this since you showed up on that sodding bridge."

If any piece of Louis' heart remained in tact, it was now melted in a puddle on the bedroom floor. Harry had wanted him since they first met?

Louis moved to get up from the floor as Harry scooted up the bed.

"Really, since the bridge?" Louis asked softly, putting one knee on the bed and reaching for the lube. Had all his pining been reciprocal this whole time?

When he looked up, Harry was nodding from where his head lay on the sheets, legs spread, a new color blooming in his cheeks.

"Yes, since the bridge. I genuinely tried to you hate you. You made it very difficult."

Louis felt himself blush, as if everything about this situation hadn't made him do so a hundred times over. But this revelation from Harry meant so much.

Louis applied a generous amount of lube to his fingers as he absorbed this new information. He traced a finger around Harry’s rim, hovering his upper body over Harry, watching for the other boy’s reaction. He wanted to make this perfect for Harry. Had to.

Harry’s shuddered in reaction, his chest falling abruptly.

"For me too. Since the bridge, I mean."

Harry held his gaze for a long moment and then raised his head off the bed to give a Louis a short peck on the lips. Louis interpreted it as a sign of acknowledgement and also a not so subtle hint to get a move on it.

Needing no further prompting, Louis slowly pressed a finger into Harry’s entrance.

Harry gripped the sheets on other side of him in his fistfuls.

Louis pushed in further and then withdrew his finger almost to the rim, before pushing it back in again. Harry moaned.

Louis began to pulse his finger slowly, drawing short pants from Harry.

“Another,” Harry ordered between breaths.

Louis obliged, arching in another finger alongside the first.

Harry’s lips parted. The contortion of his brow was worth a front row seat in every Alexander McQueen show  _ever_.

After several more thrusts of his fingers, Louis contemplated adding a third. He glanced to Harry who met his gaze and nodded in consent.

Louis removed his fingers to drizzle more lube on them. He leaned forward and kissed Harry’s left nipple as he pushed a third finger in, stretching Harry open impossibly wider.

“What’s this?” Louis paused his foray on Harry’s nipples, pressing his finger to a darker patch of pink skin on his upper chest.

“A nipple.” Harry exhaled. “I have four.”

Louis hummed through his awe. Of course, Aphrodite had pulled out all the stops on this boy.

Louis drew a circle with his tongue around this third nipple, pressed a kiss to the centre of Harry’s chest and began to blaze a trail of kisses upwards.

“What you’re just going to neglect Sacagawea? That’s very  _ableist_ of you.” Harry stuttered.

It took Louis a moment to understand what Harry was referring to, he glanced back down at Harry’s chest, to this fourth smaller ‘nipple’ if you could even call it that. Louis was of the persuasion it was more of a birthmark.

“Ableist? Hardly. This nipple is no less capable than the others. It’s not like our nipples can really do anything.”

“That’s why I’ve name mine after women.”

Louis’ jaw dropped, his finger stilling inside Harry.

“Oh please, you know that’s not what I meant.”

Harry rolled his eyes in mild frustration.

Louis’ brows raised to the ceiling. “Here you are, trying to out politically correct me—”

“I didn’t mean that!” Harry pouted, and swatted his arm. “Please, I’m a total feminist. It’s just that nipples don’t serve any real purpose on men. It makes more sense to name them after women. I’m empowering them really.”

Louis resumed the slow pulse of his fingers.

“Uh, huh. Sure.”

“See?” He strained his neck to look down at his own swiftly rising and falling chest “Meet Harriet Tubman. Over there’s Betsy Ross and this here is Susan B. Anthony.”

“Stop. I can’t handle you.”

“To the contrary, you seem to be  _handling_ me just—”

Louis had chosen that moment to twist his fingers in such a way that grazed a spot deep inside Harry that he hadn’t yet reached.

Louis smirked, as he repeated the action. “What’s that you were saying?”

“Fi—fine.” Harry panted, his stomach muscles contracting desperately. “Hands… you’re good with them.”

“What’s the rush? Just a moment ago…”

“Oh fuck off.”

Louis stilled. “Oh, so you want me to stop?”

Harry narrowed his eyes, seriously.

“I swear to God, Louis Tomlinson, if you don’t fuck me in the next 15 seconds—I take that back—the next three seconds, I’m going to—”

Louis clasped a hand over Harry’s mouth and removed his fingers, earning a whine from Harry.

Louis chuckled at Harry’s desperation, marveling at the fact Harry’s current frenzied state was all his doing. He sat back on his knees and reached for the condom. Before he had the chance to rip it open Harry sat up and snatched it from his hands. He tore the metallic wrapper with his teeth, as Louis’ mouth literally dropped. He still couldn’t believe that he got to see this—that this was all for him. Luck was not nearly a powerful enough force to explain the sight before him.

With one swift gesture, Harry reached down and rolled the condom down Louis’ length, achingly hard at this point. Louis leaned into the touch, shuddering as he fell back on top of Harry, their lips rejoining in the process. Louis came to hover over him, feeling fingernails rake at the back of his neck, eventually tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

“ _Fuck._ ” Harry breathed. “Louis.” there was a tinge of irritation in his voice and Louis was reminded of the immediate task at hand, detaching his mouth from Harry’s, and coming to kneel in front of him. He positioned himself at Harry’s entrance. He looked into the younger boy’s eyes once more for a final sign of permission. He received a terse nod from Harry who looked like he was just about smack him he didn’t get on with it.

With a final exhale, he pushed into Harry slowly.

Harry’s back arched off the bed, and his mouth dropped open. He felt Harry hot all around him, it was almost too much. Louis closed his eyes, sinking further until he bottomed out.

Louis stared down at Harry, his hair splayed out in a halo under his head…his cock hard and leaking on his stomach...the sparrows on his chest rising and falling with each breath he took.

“You can move, now.” Harry urged, eyes lidded, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Louis did just that. He started out slowly, pressing into Harry but soon enough, Harry was spurring him on, digging his heels in the back of Louis’ legs.

Louis pulled back almost to the hilt before snapping his hips forward, soliciting a soft cry from Harry.

Panting below him, Harry managed: “Yeah, like that.”

Louis repeated the action several more times, earning a slew of curses from Harry.

Harry met his gaze as Louis pushed into him, which made Louis momentarily lose track of time and space. Thinking of no other way to anchor himself, Louis leaned forward and pressed his lips to Harry’s. Harry’s mouth welcomed him warmly.

“Lou, I wanna—” Harry let out against the other boy’s lips after a moment, ”let’s switch.”

Before Louis could process Harry’s murmur and move to oblige, he felt himself slip out of Harry and a soft hand push him onto his back.

Louis fell back onto the mattress as Harry repositioned himself above him.

Louis watched as Harry realigned himself and slowly sat back.

He tilted his head back, exposing the the long column of his neck. Louis regretted not leaving a trail of love bites behind earlier. The night was still young.

With fingertips delicately pressed to Louis’ stomach, Harry began to roll his hips forward, biting his lip as he increased his speed. The moth that decorated Harry’s stomach expanded and contorted with his every breath and movement.

If Louis wasn’t totally and completely fucked before he surely was now.

He wasn't going to last much longer, what with the sight of Harry above him and the pace he was setting.

“Harry are—are you close? 'M dying here.”

Harry smiled through lidded eyes.

“That a no, then?”

In attempts to rid Harry of his smirk Louis began to meet Harry’s movements with thrusts of his own. Harry’s smile was immediately replaced with a contorted look of pleasure, achieving the desired result.

“Lou, fuck. I’m gonna—” Harry choked. Louis freed a hand from it’s grasp on Harry’s thigh to wrap it around his cock. He jerked Harry off in time with their shared movements.

“Go ahead babe," Louis urged. He was seconds away from losing it himself.

Within seconds, Harry was coming in his fist, painting a stripe across Louis’ stomach. His head bent forward before he collapsed completely onto Louis.

With a few final snaps of his hips Louis came too, writhing as he rode out his orgasm under the Harry's full weight.

Harry perched his head on Louis’ chest, his legs straightening behind him as he aligned the whole of his body with that of Louis.

“Christ, when did you mutate into a log?" Louis pretended to complain as he draped his arms over Harry’s back.

Harry hummed in contentment before lazily turning to rest his chin on Louis’ sternum.

“You love it.”

Louis was in no position to argue with him.

Harry adjusted the fringe on Louis’ forehead.

“Now, kiss me, you fool.”

 

A few hours late, after a shared shower, including but not limited to an exchange of blow jobs, an idea came to Louis as he was tracing circles on Harry’s back. He wasn’t sure why it was only coming to him now. It would be a shot in the dark, but one he was ready to make in his post-sex euphoria.

“Harry?” He spoke, before giving himself the chance to think it over.

Harry let out a hum, shifting his head on Louis’ chest.

“Do you want to come to America with me?”

From his vantage point leaning against the headboard, Louis could see Harry’s eyes fly open.

Louis could’ve segued into that better.

“I mean I know we haven’t known each other very long, and please forget I ever said anything if this freaks you out or anything. But it’s just—my uncle, he’s getting married over there. He’s stupid rich so he offered to pay for my ticket and a plus one. You wouldn’t have to pay a dime.”

Harry begin to shift, propping himself up on his elbows a mere foot from Louis’s face. He didn’t say anything, just watched Louis’ intently. Louis didn’t know what to make of Harry’s silence. If he was going to make an idiot out of himself, he might as well do it thoroughly so he prattled on.

“I was going to take Liam but he’s got an internship. The wedding’s in Martha’s Vineyard. Or _on_ Martha’s Vineyard? I think maybe it’s an island. I’m not sure. Or maybe it’s the size of the island that determines whether you say ‘on’ or ‘in.’” He was faltering under the pressure of Harry’s unreadable gaze. “...but the point is it’s in Massachusetts.” As if he needed to specify the state to a quasi-professor of North American history. “I think Boston and maybe like Plymouth Rock are also somewhat nearby. They’re historical aren’t they? We could take trips to them, if you wanted to.”

Somewhere in the process of Louis’ blathering Harry’s mouth had dropped open. He looked stunned. Seeming to regain body awareness, he shut his lips quickly and fixed his eyes on the mattress. “I couldn’t possibly accept that.” He blushed, embarrassed by his reaction.

“Yes you can.” Louis nudged Harry’s leg with his knee. “The man has more money than God and I’d want you there.”

Harry eyes scanned the folds in the sheets in thought.

“There will probably be celebrities there, if that interests you at all. He’s big in the music industry.” Great. Now he was shamelessly trying to sell this trip to Harry as if he didn’t sound desperate enough.

Harry interrupted his internal scolding.

“Celebrities, I don’t care about.” Harry’s dismissed easily, eyes flitting to Louis’. “But  _Boston, Massachusetts_? Seriously?” He said, incredulity lighting his face.

An enormous grin stretched across Louis’ face, because there was no way Harry was going to turn this down. Louis humored him though, delighting in Harry’s astonishment.

“You can think about it if you like.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “You don’t have to give me an answer right now.”

“I’m coming.” Harry fired back at lightning speed, before recomposing himself and straightening his shoulders. “I mean, if you’re really sure you want me there.”

Louis just smiled at the beautiful boy in front of him. As if he could imagine a time when he would ever not want Harry there.

He looked down at Harry’s expectant face, attempting to erase any wrinkle doubt on it.

“I’m sure.”

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably be the last fic I write because it took me an eon and a half, but thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed it! <3


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